


Talking to George

by drinkurkombucha



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Comedy, Eventual Smut, George is shy and confused, M/M, Matty is obsessed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 85,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27896965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkurkombucha/pseuds/drinkurkombucha
Summary: Matty is a struggling musician and his life is a chaotic mess. After getting kicked out of a nightmare flat share, he moves back in with his old school friends Ross and Adam and their new housemate – the handsome but mysterious George (who no one ever sees). It isn’t long before Matty starts to develop a bit of an unhealthy obsession…A MH x GD fic[COMPLETED]
Relationships: George Daniel/Matthew Healy
Comments: 233
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** I'm back with a new fic! Here's some essential back story: Once upon a time I was so hungover in Heathrow airport I thought I was going to die and my flight got delayed. I found this book left behind by someone and read it to try and distract myself. The book wasn't so great, but I kept going _Man, this plot would be hilarious with some tweaks..._ Then a few months ago I started writing Gatty fics and, well, here we are. This plot is very, very loosely based on that book. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. I just wanted to write something fun and a little less emo after finishing Music for Cars. Let me know if you'd like to read more <3

**Chapter 1**

“Oh no, absolutely fucking not!”

I rushed forwards wedging the box I was carrying into the door frame so Ross, one of my oldest and dearest friends, couldn’t slam the door in my face.

“Ross? Fuck!” I cursed as I nearly dropped the box. “Please Ross?”

A struggle ensued as I tried to barge my way into the house laden down with my personal belongings and Ross tried to shove me back out.

“Matty no!”

He was too strong. One swift shove sent the box I was carrying soaring over my head and back out into the front garden. We both froze, watching in slow motion as it hit the path. The distinct sound of glass breaking. _Fuck._

“You absolute dickhead – my bong was in that!” I turned around, livid, just in time to see him shut the door in my face.

I heard the familiar scratch of the chain being drawn across the lock inside.

“You absolute prick MacDonald!” I yelled.

I kicked the door a few times, pausing briefly to wink at Mrs Murray next door as she peered out her living room window to see what was causing the latest racket.

“Go away Matty! We talked about this!” Ross’s voice came through the letter box and I sunk down towards it.

We glared at each other through the tiny metal slit.

“I swear once I get in this house I am actually going to kick your arse,” I threatened.

He had the audacity to laugh at that.

“I’d like to see you try, you couldn’t beat your way out of a wet paper bag,” he snorted.

“I’m going to kill you!” I slapped the flap of the letter box shut and Ross yelped as I caught his finger.

“You prick!” he cursed and I laughed.

“Hah! Fuck you Ross!”

I slapped at the door some more in warning and as a way to keep warm because it was October and fucking freezing, and I had lost my coat somewhere along the way as I traversed the city with all my bags and boxes. I swore under my breath when I realised that there was a high probability that I had left a box of my books on the tube earlier too.

“I hate this fucking city!” I yelled then, giving the door one more slap and sinking down onto the doorstep.

I contemplated having a cry but realised I already looked pathetic enough sitting on the doorstep of 36 Crescent Street (or 36C as we lovingly called it because the innuendo made us all laugh).

I waved as Mr Townsend from number 40 walked by with his dog. He rolled his eyes at me and kept walking, shaking his head.

I was 31, barely scraping by in London and trying to make it as a musician. I had moved down to the big city full of excitement and huge, grand dreams when I was just 19, hoping I would get a break and make it in the biz. Now here I was, 12 years later, still trying to make it in the biz only now I was filled with trauma, self-deprecating humour and existentialism. I had never gotten that break. All London had ever really given me was stress (and one particularly bad bout of gonorrhoea, but the less said about that the better).

I sighed and rubbed my arms trying to warm myself up. It didn’t work. I opted for taking a crumpled packet of fags out of my back pocket and lighting up a smoke. Today had been a bit of a nightmare. I had been kicked out of my flat due to “bad behaviour” and the small matter of being three months behind on my rent.

“Well good, it was a shit flat anyway,” I said aloud to myself, trying to take away some of the sting of the situation.

Okay, so that wasn’t exactly true. The flat itself had been lovely, but sharing with Chris and ‘Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee’ (also known as Katie and Sarah) had also been a magnificent head wreck.

I weighed up my options. I _could_ go back home if Ross and Adam wouldn’t let me back in. Like _proper_ home. I knew either my mum or my dad would let me crash until I sorted myself out, but I also didn’t have it in me to see my mum’s worried look and the inevitable ‘Matthew, you’re in your thirties now… maybe you should get your life together?’ lecture that would undoubtedly ensue.

And to be fair to Ross, he was right. We had talked about how they wouldn’t be willing to take me back in given that I had skipped out on rent here too. But things were different. Now I was technically homeless, so surely they’d cut me some slack, right?

I let out a long sigh on a cloud of smoke and I was so deeply engrossed in my thoughts that I didn’t notice as someone approached me.

“Let me guess – you got kicked out?” said a voice.

Adam was standing in front of me, fresh from his commute home. He was wearing a ridiculous hipster scarf and a coat that was too big for him. He took his headphones off and looked at me.

“Ross broke my bong and won’t let me in,” I said a bit pathetically and Adam shook his head.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Get out of the way,” he said, gesturing at me to move aside as he went to open the door.

“Ross, take the chain off – it’s me,” he sounded tired and then muttered something that sounded like ‘fucking idiots’ under his breath while he waited.

He turned around and picked up one of my bags. I could hear Ross moving in the hallway.

“You coming in then?” Adam said and I couldn’t stop the smile that took over my face.

I quickly stubbed out the end of my smoke and stood up, brushing off my behind which was now numb from sitting on the cold step.

Ross shot me a scowl as he opened the front door.

I picked up as much of my stuff as I could carry and quickly crossed the threshold.

“Fuck you,” Ross hissed at me as I walked by him.

“Yeah, you wish,” I stuck my tongue out at him.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” I said, following Adam (affectionately also known as Hann) into the kitchen and dumping the box I was carrying onto the rickety old table.

The place hadn’t changed at all in the few months since I’d been gone. If anything, it looked worse. The patch of mould growing just over the back door seemed to have gotten bigger and I noticed there were a few fresh fag burns on the kitchen table.

I had previously lived here with Adam and Ross for seven years of my life, but earlier this year, in what I can only assume now was some kind of psychotic break, I had moved out. The truth was that I had been getting frustrated here in this gritty part of the city and had convinced myself that moving to a more up-market area would give me a better chance in terms of getting gigs.

I assumed that rich, posh people equalled more disposable income which in turn equalled a need for a musician in, say, a fancy gentleman’s club. Needless to say neither I nor my dark, depressing music was a match for this kind of clientele and I quickly found myself broke as fuck despite the fact that I was living in quite a nice gaff. Although my new (eh, now technically ‘old’) flat mates drove me around the fucking bend.

Chris worked in law (a fancy way of saying he answered the phone for an actual qualified solicitor). He was also deeply sexually repressed, but after a few drinks would enjoy a bit of flirty banter with me only to panic and immediately invite over some poor girl he occasionally shagged when the banter got a bit too much for him. Coward.

Katie and Sarah (Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee) both worked in finance. Katie was a control freak and couldn’t cope with mess. She blatantly despised me and hated having my “chaotic” energy in her space and Sarah? Sarah was alright to be begin with, but she and I had a falling out when she arrived home unexpectedly in the middle of the day and found me getting high in the living room while a random bird sucked me off on the sofa.

Yes, we just didn’t _gel_ me and those flat mates. So it wasn’t really surprising that they had, rather unceremoniously, given me the boot earlier today.

I had arrived home, hungover and coming down from an amazing night out on the tiles and had found all my shit in the front garden. Chris had then informed me, through the letter box, that he would call the coppers if I wasn’t gone in ten minutes or if I attempted to cause any kind of scene. He also told me I’d be hearing from his solicitor regarding all the cash I owed them in unpaid rent.

I frowned as I realised I had engaged in two letter box-based arguments today. What the fuck did that say about my life? I groaned inwardly.

“So, I take it you need a place to stay?” Hann asked, taking off his coat and slinging it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

I watched him as he put the kettle on and took out two mugs.

“Well… I was hoping I could move back in,” I said as smiling at him as sweetly as I possibly could.

Hann shook his head and my smile collapsed.

“No can do mate,” he said.

He popped a tea bag into each of the cups and poured boiling water over them.

“I’m sorry love, I think I just had a stroke. What did you say?” I asked.

“I said, ‘No can do mate,’” Hann repeated.

“You know you left us completely in the lurch rent-wise Matty so we had to get someone else in to take your room post-haste, lest all of us got kicked out. Thanks for that by the way,” he said sarcastically and I flinched.

“You’ve been replaced,” Ross added a further blow as he walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table, pushing my box out of the way.

“Fuck you Ross,” I snapped and raked a hand through my hair. This was not going according to plan. According to my plan, we all should have been crying and hugging and babbling about how much we had missed each other by now.

“Who replaced me?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Adam set a cup of tea down in front of me and gestured for me to sit down. I sat just because I didn’t know what else to do.

“That’s not important. Look I’m sorry mate, but we talked about this,” he began.

True, we had talked about it. Yes I had fucked them over in terms of not paying my rent before I left, which was a dick move but my new place was expensive AF and I was a struggling artist.

“We also can’t kick the new guy out either. You created a bit of a mess,” Hann finished.

Yeah, story of my fucking life.

“But I’ve got nowhere else to go,” I said sadly, purposely giving Hann the most pathetic look I could muster.

He watched me and then I saw it – bingo – his eyes softened as he took a sip of his tea. Hann was so easy to wrap around my finger. He had this desperate need to take care of pathetic things and I was probably the most pathetic thing he knew.

“No Hann, don’t let him manipulate you,” Ross said and I hit out at him, not breaking eye contact with Hann.

“It’s so cold outside Hann. I can’t live on the streets. Do you know what would happen to someone like me on the streets? Please? Pretty please?” I pouted.

Hann sighed loudly.

“There is that weird, tiny, glorified closet upstairs… We’ve been using it for storage but I guess you could fit a small bed into it…” he trailed off.

My eyes lit up. I knew the room he was talking about. It resembled a coffin and the floor sloped weirdly in it. It was also infested with spiders, which wasn’t ideal, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“This is a bad idea Adam…” Ross warned but I had Hann exactly where I wanted him.

“You’d be doing me such a favour Hann,” I purred and Adam threw his eyes up to heaven.

“Okay, fuck. Fine. You can stay. But I swear mate, if there’s any more fucked-up shenanigans we _will_ kick you out. We’re all getting too old for it,” he said and I jumped up, punching the air and knocking over my kitchen chair.

“Yes! Thank you Hann! You’re the best. Ross? You’re a fucking monster and I hate you and I am having the sloppiest, weirdest, most disgusting sex I can possibly have in your bed at the next available movement,” I said.

I mouthed the words: “You’re dead” at Ross as I grabbed Hann into a hug.

Ross rolled his eyes but he knew better than to argue. Hann paid most of the rent anyway because he was the only one of us with a decent job. He was a pharmacist in a busy family-owned joint. He hated his boss and pretty much every aspect of his job, but it paid more than those chain-pharmacies so he stayed. Because of his better income, Hann could easily have found a much nicer place to live, but he also had a caretaker complex, meaning he probably thought we’d die if he moved out (and we probably would, in fairness).

Ross was just bitter about everything because he had caught me snorting lines off a young man’s arse cheek in his bed after a particularly fucked-up house party shortly before I had moved out and left them in the lurch.

“I love you Hann, you’ve always been my favourite,” I said and Hann pushed me away as I planted a kiss on his forehead.

“I swear Matty, no funny business and for the love of god, you _have_ to be nice to the new guy,” he said.

I picked up my chair and sat back down. Life was good again.

“Who’s the new guy?” I asked.

“Well… we never really see him,” Adam trailed off, lowering his voice as if the phantom house mate was going to appear out of thin air.

“His name is George. He’s freakishly tall and super quiet. He just sort of stays in his room a lot. He doesn’t speak, like, at all,” said Ross.

“I think I’ve spoken to him a grand total of about five times since he moved in,” said Hann, taking a sip of his tea.

“Well, you boys know I like a challenge. I’ll win him round,” I said, winking at Ross.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what we’re afraid of,” said Adam.

******

An hour later and I was officially unpacked. Well, as unpacked as I could possibly get. My new room was fucking tiny and I didn’t have a bed, so at the moment I was lying on one of Ross’s old duvets on the ground, smoking a spliff and eyeing a spider on the ceiling that was slowly making its way to the spot directly over my head. It was not a good vibe.

There was no window in the room or any kind of ventilation (it really _was_ a glorified wardrobe) and I had to leave the door cracked open at all times just in case I suffocated. That was going to be a gas the next time I had a guest or when I fancied a wank.

The only things I was able to fit in here alongside myself and my makeshift duvet-bed was a very small stack of books, my guitar and a tiny bag of clothes. The rest of my shit had been discreetly hidden behind the sofa so Hann and Ross wouldn’t see it. I had no qualms about using the sofa as a makeshift wardrobe, but I’m sure they’d probably object if they realised what I was doing.

I finished my spliff, enjoying the gentle unwinding of my usually stressed-out, knotted-up brain and then went back downstairs, silently hoping that the spider would be gone when I came back. Hann and Ross were playing video games in the living room.

I wandered in the general direction of the kitchen, pausing briefly at the door of my old bedroom.

My old bedroom was downstairs, just off the kitchen. When we had initially moved in, Ross and Hann had immediately offered it to me because it was the furthest away from the upstairs rooms and they both knew of my proclivity for loud sex with random strangers. The fact that it was also the room closest to the front door meant that my conquests wouldn’t be waking them up as they left in the morning and that I wouldn’t be waking them up when I stumbled home drunk at stupid o’clock. It was the perfect arrangement.

I reached out and touched the wood, wondering about the mysterious new house mate who had replaced me.

 _George_. I rolled his name around in my head. He sounded old. Serious. Like he worked as a mechanic and could be found in the local every Saturday afternoon, sinking pints while watching the footie and roaring at the telly.

 _George_ was a name that conjured an oddly specific image into my head: Tall, old, greying hair, soft stomach, limp dick, back hair.

I recoiled my hand from the door at that thought – it was particularly grim.

I stood there for a few minutes, listening for any signs of life but there was nothing. I figured he was probably still at work or possibly out having a few drinks.

I padded into the kitchen in my socks and started making a cup of tea.

“Good to see you again mate,” I said to the mould over the back door.

I was just settling into my usual chair at the kitchen table, like I had never left, when I heard a shout from the living room:

“Matty? Why the fuck is there a pile of your boxers behind the sofa?”

It was good to be home.

******


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Thank you for all the love on chapter one! I’m so happy you’re all as into this weird little fic as I am. Here’s chapter two - enjoy ❤️

**Chapter 2**

I had been back living at 36C for just over a week now and life was good. Granted, I was struggling to get gigs and I genuinely had no idea how the fuck I was going to pay my rent, but I had settled into my little coffin room and the place was back to feeling like home.

I still had no bed and my back was taking a beating from sleeping straight on the floor on Ross’s old duvet. Earlier in the week I had hooked up with someone from Tinder and when we went back to their place, I immediately passed out in their bed post-sex. Being in an _actual_ bed almost felt better than the sex itself… almost. I was a bit mortified when they woke me up three hours later and asked me to leave. I had totally forgotten their name, but I would remember that bed forever. True love never dies.

I put a spoon full of Coco Pops into my mouth and sighed happily when I remembered how soft and glorious that bed was. Cosy flashbacks.

“Are you having breakfast?” Ross asked, fussing with his tie as he came into the kitchen.

I tried to respond but my mouth was full. Ross gave me a disgusted look as some milk dribbled down my chin and a wayward Coco Pop fell out of my mouth.

“Mate, it’s 2pm,” he said, shaking his head at me as I swallowed and wiped at my face.

“And I was up chasing spiders around my room all night,” I shuddered at the memory. One had escaped into the bag that was home to some of my clothes and I knew I’d be fucking terrified every time I put on a pair of jeans now in case it made a reappearance.

“You know that the average person eats eight spiders in their sleep, right?” Ross took great pleasure in delivering the fucking disgusting fact to me.

“Fuck off Ross you dickhead, why would you tell me that?”

I flicked a Coco Pop off my soon in his direction and he laughed. I glared at him as he made himself a cup of tea and sat down opposite me at the kitchen table.

“Where are you off to dressed like that love?” I asked, wiggling my spoon at him.

He was dressed in a fancy grey suit. He looked good, but obviously I didn’t tell him that.

“Work. There’s a big wedding coming in today so we were all told to look sharp,” he said.

He picked up his tie and let it drop sadly on the table. He hated wearing ties. Always said they made him feel like his dad.

Ross was currently working as a concierge at a local hotel and he hated every second of it. Once upon a time he had been a journalist – he was trained and all – but the industry was fucked and papers kept shutting down. After a brief but memorable stint at a women’s magazine (he was the only male member of staff), he had relented and gotten a “real” job. Although he was still nosy as fuck, like a journalist.

He had aspirations though – he wanted to write a novel. In fact, he had been fussing over the first draft of a psychological thriller for the past two years. Hann and I had both read it and it was actually good too, but Ross just wouldn’t fucking send it out to any literary agents. He kept saying it “wasn’t ready” which we all knew was just a cover up for his intense fear of rejection.

I could picture him as a thriller writer I decided then as I looked at him.

“You know you have the face for a dust jacket,” I mused aloud and he rolled his eyes at me.

“What are your plans for today? You look like you have big ones. I mean you’re sitting here in your boxers at 2pm, eating a children’s breakfast cereal, so I imagine you’re going to make _a lot_ of money today,” Ross said and I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Actually I have a super packed day today. I’m going to write new music, wank on your bedsheets, get ready for a date tonight and maybe, just maybe, I might catch a glimpse of the elusive George,” I said.

Despite being here for just over a week, I had seen no signs to support the fact that George actually existed. A part of me was starting to think that he wasn’t real at all and that Ross and Hann were just fucking with me.

“Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him either,” said Ross, frowning. “Normally you spot the odd empty cup or dirty dish in the sink, or hear him creeping in at night. It’s been radio silence since you’ve been back. Your presence has clearly upset the natural order of things.”

“Do you think we should check that he’s still alive and not actually rotting away in there?” I asked, spooning more cereal into my mouth and nodding my head in the general direction of his bedroom.

I watched as Ross got up and went out to the bedroom door. He knocked it and said: “G, you alive?” then quickly added: “I can call you G right?”

There was no answer.

Ross hovered for a few minutes and then returned to the kitchen.

“He’s probably at work, given that it’s the middle of the day,” he shrugged and sat back down.

“So what does the mysterious George work as?” I asked and Ross shook his head.

“Couldn’t tell you. He’s a very, very quiet guy. He doesn’t give much away at all. It’s a bit infuriating,” said Ross.

Ross took a deep sip of his tea and I slurped up a spoon of chocolate milk from my bowl.

“Tell me about this date you have later – is this your latest money-making scheme? Shagging oldies for some quick cash?” Ross asked.

I gave him a withering look as he laughed at his own joke and then cocked my head to the side, giving some serious thought to what he had just said.

“Y’know a sugar daddy/mummy situation isn’t exactly the _worst_ idea. I would happily let them buy me things and pay my rent. I mean I _am_ baby,” I said.

“Baby? That’s one fucking word to describe you,” Ross said.

“You know I’d be your baby too Ross, if only you’d let me,” I batted my eyelashes at him.

“Oh fuck _off_ Matty,” Ross sighed getting to his feet.

He dumped the end of his tea in the sink and then, before he left, he came over and gave me the briefest of hugs and a kiss on the forehead.

“I’ve missed you and your stupid sense of humour,” he mumbled.

I grinned at him.

“Missed you too love,” I said.

“Matty, for fuck’s sake!” He snapped as I slapped his arse when he turned to leave.

“What? It’s a good luck gesture! Go get ‘em tiger!” I called after him as he vacated the kitchen.

Ross threw one more “fuck you!” in my direction before I heard the front door open and close.

I smiled to myself. Ross and I bickered like a married couple 99.9 per cent of the time, but deep down we did love each other really. We just had a weird way of showing it.

I ran a hand through my hair as the silence of the house fell around me.

“What do you think I should wear for this date? Should I go sexy or innocent?” I asked the mould on the kitchen ceiling.

It said nothing in return.

“Sexy it is,” I said as I got up and cleared up my breakfast.

******

I was hammered. Like, so positively _wankered_ I wasn’t even sure how I was still standing at this point in time. By my calculations, I should have passed out ages ago in a nightclub toilet or the back of a taxi. And yet here I was, somehow having managed to navigate my way home without any assistance. I clearly had the inner compass of a fucking Canadian goose. I made a mental note: File that under shit to tell Ross the next time he tells me I have no sense of direction.

However, despite my stunning navigation skills, I was so hammered that I was having severe difficulty trying to put my key in the front door. I had dropped it four times already and had missed the actual keyhole about fifty. It was 3am and it didn’t help that I was so cold my hands were shaking madly too.

I was not dressed for the weather. I was wearing leather trousers and a leather jacket. At some point during the night I had lost my t-shirt, so I basically looked like a prostitute of some kind and lacked the sexy, edgy, ‘rock star’ vibe that I had actually been going for.

“Focus Matty, focusss…” I closed one eye, squinting hard with the other and finally managed to get my key in the lock.

“Nice one!” I said loudly, immediately clasping my hand over my mouth when I remembered everyone inside was asleep.

“Sssh!” I hissed at myself as I made my way inside.

My date had been a complete and utter bust. Instead of a sugar daddy who would bend to my every whim and desire, the date had been with a slightly older guy named Peter who was, very obviously, married. He hadn’t even bothered to take his wedding ring off before he met me and he had spent a good twenty minutes trying to convince me that the ring on his finger _wasn’t_ actually a wedding ring, despite the fact that when he took it off and handed it to me it had ‘love forever’ and a date engraved into the inside of the band.

Men, honestly.

I let him live in the hope of sleeping with me and allowed him to get me absolutely trashed just because I had gone to the effort of dolling myself up for him, but right when he was trying to convince me to leave with him, I excused myself and went to the bathroom.

Pro tip – if you’re ever in trouble on a sad, same sex date just go into the bathroom of the opposite sex and hide out there. Your date will never think to check for you in there and unsurprisingly, Peter was too fucking dense to pop his head into the women’s loos in the club we were in. If he had been smart and done so, he would have found me having the best deep, meaningful conversations that only ever happen in the women’s bathroom late at night.

I had spent the best part of an hour sitting on a sink chatting to a girl named Sienna and telling her that her cheating boyfriend Anthony was, in fact, scum while Taylor and Mairead kept bringing us in drinks and Sophia put eyeshadow on me because, as she said, I had “beautiful eyes that _need_ to be emphasised.” During my time in the bathroom I also held Anna’s hair while she puked and cried and gave her my t-shirt like a gentleman when she realised her little strappy top had vomit on it. I had admired Ashley’s engagement ring and promised Danielle I’d go to her 30th birthday drinks next month and bring my mate Ross because she “loves men with beards.”

Once the coast was clear and Peter had left, myself and my new friends had danced the rest of the night away and swore we’d be BFFs forever and do the same thing next weekend.

I honestly loved women. I loved the instant camaraderie you experienced in the women’s bathroom and how quickly they indoctrinated you into their ranks when they realised that you weren’t fully straight. I also _loved_ the gossip. It was a good vibe.

“Oh bollocks,” I cursed under my breath, bumping into the cabinet in the hallway as I pulled my boots off.

I had drank _way_ too much tonight and, worse still, I had mixed drinks too. I had imbibed wine, vodka, a shot of some mysterious fruity drink and I had also knocked back a few cosmopolitans with my new friends. Tomorrow would be horrible.

I moved through the house towards my room, stripping off and discarding my clothes as I went until I was just shivering in my boxers.

I quietly opened my bedroom door, conscious of the fact that it was always squeaky and there would be fucking hell to pay if I accidentally woke Hann up, and then slowly moved towards my bed, sighing happily as my body sunk into the soft mattress. It was so warm and cosy. I let out a happy little purr as I nestled under the blankets.

Then someone moved beside me.

“Who the fuck are you?” said a deep voice.

“I’m Matty, why are you in my bed?” I said rolling over in the direction the voice was coming from.

I hadn’t brought anyone home, had I? Fuck, I was hardly so drunk that I had forgotten that I brought someone home?

I was about to tell whoever it was to either go away or shut up and just be the little spoon when a light switched on. The words died in my mouth as a striking (but sleepy) face came into view. I was rat-arsed but I could still absolutely appreciate beauty when I saw it.

His sandy brown hair was tousled and messy, sticking up all over the place. He looked confused, his brow creased. His eyes were positively dreamy. He had sloping, classically handsome features and the kind of face where he just got hotter the longer I stared at it.

“You’re in my bed mate,” he said then in that deep voice. I marvelled slightly at it. It was surprisingly low and masculine. It didn’t match his soft, beautiful face. An interesting juxtaposition.

I was vaguely aware that I was just staring at him, utterly transfixed.

“Mate - you’re in my bed,” he said it again, louder this time, and I snapped out of my stupor.

“Wait… what?” I sat up, confused as fuck and then I remembered – this wasn’t my bedroom. Technically I didn’t _have_ a bedroom anymore. I had a spider-infested coffin. Balls.

“Oh bollocks!” I scrambled out of the bed.

Unfortunately for me, my spatial awareness and sense of balance were both completely fucked. My eyesight also wasn’t the best in low light. My foot slipped on a vinyl sleeve on the floor and I landed on my arse.

“Jesus Christ!” I yelped.

He watched me, his eyes slightly wide as I got to my feet, cradling my left arse cheek.

“Sorry, this used to be my old bedroom,” I said, suddenly very aware of the fact that I was in my boxers. I folded my arms in an attempt to cover myself up.

“You must be George then?” I asked.

He looked at me like I was mental.

“Eh, yeah… I’m George…”

“Okay cool, well, sorry. I’m just going to go die of fucking embarrassment now. See you later love,” I babbled and vacated the room as quickly as I could.

As I closed the door behind me, my face burning, I felt my stomach flip.

******


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I am having WAAAY too much fun working on this fic. Thank you for your comments and kudos - they inspire me to keep going, so thanks for taking the time to drop them. I love reading them! In this chapter, Matty tries to remember just wtf actually happened last night... I'll try get another update in for you before Christmas. Enjoy!

**Chapter 3**

I woke up the next morning with a slamming head and a spider on my face. I immediately flung myself into a sitting position, thwacking the spider off my cheek. It fell onto the floor in front of me and scuttled away under a pile of books. My heart was pounding with the fright. I shuddered as my skin crawled.

“Fucking spiders!” I said aloud and with deep feeling, and then proceeded to have an existential crisis when I remembered what Ross had told me in the kitchen yesterday. Was he right? Was I actually eating these little fuckers in my sleep? _Jesus Christ_.

I groaned as a wave of nausea washed over me and I sunk back down onto my makeshift mattress. My 31-year-old back ached in protest. My left arse cheek hurt too. What the fuck had I done to myself last night?

I took a moment to replay the previous night’s events in my head: Peter. Married. Drinks. _Lots_ of drinks. Having immense banter in the women’s loos. Taxi home. Getting out early because I had to yosh. Yoshing over the hedge into Mr Townsend’s front garden…

THE FEAR descended on me suddenly.

THE FEAR (all caps, always) is an interesting concept. Different from regular fear, THE FEAR only happens when you’ve gotten so drunk you can’t really remember what you’ve done, but some small part of you just knows it was bad. It’s like an alcohol-induced state of extreme paranoia mixed with anxiety.

I took a deep breath and picked up my phone, scrolling through my last dialled list and my messages. I had behaved myself. Aside from three calls to the local chipper at 2:15am there were no sus numbers popping up. I hadn’t texted any exes. I hadn’t made any booty calls. I _had_ sent my little brother a selfie of me holding a cosmopolitan, but that was just banter.

Vague memory of me leaving a half-eaten curry chip in the back of a taxi… then things got a little fuzzy.

Hmm… think Matty.

I cast my mind back again: Yoshing into Mr Townsend’s front garden. Then home. Pulling off my clothes in… the kitchen? Weird, but okay – not illegal. And then getting into bed.

Only I didn’t have a bed. I had a floor duvet.

My heart felt as if it had been dropped from a height.

George. I had met George last night.

“OH MY GOD!”

I ran my hands down my face in sheer anguish as last night bloomed in my mind suddenly in striking clarity.

I had gotten into his bed. I had waltzed into his room, in my fucking boxers no less, where he had been sleeping and I had cuddled up in bed beside him. I was pretty sure I had tried to spoon him too.

“What the fuck is my damage?!” I groaned.

“I have been asking myself that ever since I met you,” said a voice just outside my door.

I looked up. It was Adam.

“Do you need a brew?” he asked, obviously noticing the absolute fucking _state_ of me.

“It’s Saturday Matty,” he added then, interpreting my confused expression. Hann had usually vacated the house for his job hours before I even managed to drag my arse out of bed.

“Tea, yes please,” I croaked weakly as my aching brain struggled to get its bearings.

Adam disappeared downstairs and I could hear him putting on the kettle and singing what sounded like a Taylor Swift song.

I was shook. I had climbed into my new housemate’s bed, half naked and twisted drunk in the middle of the night.

I forced myself to take three deep breaths.

Adam arrived back carrying two mugs of tea.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, standing in the doorway and passing a mug to me as I sat up.

“You also look like shit. Take two of these as well,” he added, handing me some painkillers.

Two things you could always count on Hann for: Amazing cups of tea and pharmaceuticals. I swear he just carried pills around in his pockets. Sometimes a spliff too, if you were lucky.

My room was way too small for him to come in and actually sit down so he just leaned against the door frame.

“I did something mortifying last night Hann,” I said and Adam laughed.

“You? Do something mortifying? _Impossible_ ,” he teased.

I took a sip of my tea, swallowing the painkillers and closing my eyes as another wave of nausea rolled through me.

“I met George last night,” I croaked.

“You did?” Hann asked, sounding surprised.

I opened my eyes and swallowed.

“I was hammered and I forgot that I don’t sleep downstairs any more. I walked into his room, in my boxers and got into bed with him,” I said.

“Matty, Jesus fucking Christ!” Hann squeezed the bridge of his nose and scrunched up his face in second-hand embarrassment.

I took another sip of tea as he absorbed the information.

“I have so many questions. Why were you in your boxers?” he asked.

“I took my clothes off in the kitchen,” I said.

Hann frowned.

“I was wondering why there were leather pants in the sink… but we’ll come back to that. What did George say?”

“He woke up, was like, ‘Who are you?’ I fell on my arse trying to leave and then I just ran out of the room as quickly as I could,” I said.

Hann started laughing and I frowned.

“I’m glad my pain is so funny to you,” I leaned forward and swatted at his leg.

“How are you a real person? I swear to god,” Hann kicked at my hand, accidentally spilling his tea on the carpet.

“You need to be an adult and apologise to him properly, you know that right? We can’t afford for him to move out. Having the extra cash is very helpful, especially given your current financial… instability,” Hann said, carefully choosing his words and I groaned.

“I can’t apologise to him Hann.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s _mortifying_ ,” I said glumly.

At that Hann shook his head.

“Man up and apologise to him mate. At the minute his rent is literally the only thing keeping you here until you start offering up cash of your own. You get a two-month grace period because I know times are hard, but after that we’ll have to have a serious conversation,” he said.

With those words of wisdom (and that thinly-veiled threat of making me homeless), Hann left me alone with my thoughts.

Apologise to George face-to-face? Now that was a concept. Unfortunately my bruised ego wasn’t able to hack that.

I grabbed a notebook that was squashed down the side of my pillow, ripped out a page and composed a note:

> _Dear George,_
> 
> _Terribly sorry about the miscommunication that happened last night. I had imbibed many alcoholic beverages. Please excuse my appalling behaviour. I do hope we can be friends._
> 
> _Kindest regards,  
>  _ _Mr. Matthew Timothy Healy (occupant of the coffin room upstairs)._

I pulled on a pair of joggers and a hoodie and shuffled downstairs with my note. I slipped it under George’s door and then immediately went to the downstairs toilet where last night’s alcohol made a reappearance via my puke.

I slumped on the floor, waiting for the nausea to pass and revised last night’s altercation in my mind again.

George’s bed had been so comfortable and he had been so warm too.

And then THE FEAR hit me again when a random image flashed inside my mind: George was handsome. George was _really fucking handsome._ I closed my eyes and tried to recall his features; sandy brown hair, brown eyes, that deep, oddly sexy voice.

Interesting feelings welled up in my chest.

He was handsome and I had not only climbed into his bed in the middle of the night like an absolute lunatic, I had also now written him a fucking weird apology note. I had fucking signed it “kindest regards.” Who fucking does that? _Oh my god._

“I want to die,” I groaned as another wave of nausea hit me.

******

Sometimes when you’re in the grips of a life-threatening hangover, the only thing that can help is hair of the dog that bit you and that’s what I was trying this evening.

Ross, Adam and I were sitting in our local pub. It was Saturday night and I was nursing a cosmopolitan and trying not to cry into the packet of cheese and onion crisps I was eating. I was feeling very, very sorry for myself.

Ross was laughing so hard he could barely breathe as Adam told him what I had done last night. None of us had seen George all day and I figured he had probably gotten completely spooked by my behaviour and my fucking weird note and had moved out already.

“You are such a liability,” Ross said, regaining his composure. “You need to sort your life out mate.”

“It gets worse,” I mumbled then, because I was also a masochist it would appear. My hangover was making me emotional and oddly vulnerable.

“How?” Adam asked.

“I don’t know if you guys have realised this… but George is _fucking gorgeous_ ,” I said.

They both groaned.

“Matty no. You can’t shag George. For the love of god,” Ross put his head in his hands. “Remember when you shagged Aimee?”

Ah yes, Aimee. Aimee was one of Ross’s friends who stayed with us for two months when she first moved down to London. We enjoyed four weeks of divine sex one hot summer and then she found out I was also shagging three other people at the same time. There had been a huge bust up in the house one evening where she had thrown a glass at my head and then there had been a distinct VIBE until she left.

We had all walked on eggshells and it was horrible. Ross had found it particularly stressful given that she was his mate. But the sex though… I smirked as I remembered it and Adam threw a soggy beer mat at me.

“Keep it in your pants lover boy,” he said.

“But George and I are _soulmates_ ,” I said, emphasising the word, and Adam rolled his eyes.

“And how do you know that? Enlighten me.”

“Because he’s tall and fucking gorgeous, like some kind of sexy tree. I’m a simple man. That’s all I need in a soulmate really,” I said.

“Mate you honestly put more thought into buying shampoo than you do into your relationships,” Adam shook his head.

“Look, when you meet your future husband you just know,” I said. I took a swig of my cocktail and flinched at the sugary taste. Flashbacks of last night. I shivered. This was the hangover that wouldn’t end.

“Yeah, but think of how awkward it would be if you shagged him and then he ghosted you. It’s not a good idea. Don’t shit where you sleep,” Ross said and I gagged.

“That’s disgusting Ross. I can’t believe you’re a writer,” I put my drink down. “Look, all I’m saying is we would have beautiful children together. They’d be tall and glorious looking.”

“Well let’s just hope that they get George’s brain because you clearly don’t have one. Also, how is this relationship going to blossom? He’s ghosting you already mate,” Hann teased.

He had a point. Last night was literally the first time I had laid my eyes on George despite living there for just over a week.

“Well, I simply _must_ have him. You can’t stand in the way of true love baby,” I said and Hann sighed.

He got up and made his way to the bar, resigning himself to the fact that he was fighting a losing battle with me. Adam knew me well enough by now to know that once I saw something (or someone) I liked, I got a bit obsessive and simply _had_ to have it. Poor George was now my latest target.

“Do you even know if he’s into men?” Ross asked as I finished my packet of crisps.

“No, but I believe that if you find the right person sexual orientation is fluid,” I said and Ross laughed.

“Well, I admire your optimism. Poor George isn’t going to know what’s hit him,” he said.

Hann arrived back a few minutes later carrying a tray of drinks. I frowned when I spotted the shots of tequila.

“Are you trying to kill me?” I asked as he placed a shot in front of me.

“No love, I’m trying to sedate you so you leave poor George alone tonight,” he smirked at me.

“Oh fuck off,” I said, taking the shot anyway.

By the time we got home later that night my hangover was finally gone and had been replaced by a beautiful tipsiness that felt like a warm blanket around my mind. It was lovely. I’d probably be a wreck again in the morning but at that moment I didn’t care. I was tired but happy to be back living with my friends. The fact that a beautiful man now also lived here was an added bonus.

“This really isn’t necessary,” I protested as Hann literally led me up the stairs to my coffin room.

“No Matty, trust me – it is,” he said flatly.

Adam deposited me outside my door and watched me as I pushed it open, making sure I went inside.

“I _will_ hear you if you attempt to go downstairs,” he called.

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too Hann,” I said, leaving the door ajar so I had enough air to breathe during the night.

I was in the process of taking off my jeans when I spotted the note on the floor. Someone had slipped it under my door while I was in the pub. I moved to snatch it up without thinking and tripped on my jeans, cursing loudly as my knees thwacked against the floorboards.

I wriggled out of my jeans and grabbed the piece of paper. It was my note from earlier – the one I had pushed under George’s door before I realised he was my soulmate.

I cringed as I read it again.

"Kindest regards, _ugggh_ ," I groaned.

I sat there staring at the piece of paper, confused and then I slowly turned it over. There was one word scrawled on the back in unfamiliar handwriting:

> **Okay.**

******


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** So I was just going to post one chapter today, but then I figured if you’re anything like me, you’ll be bored over the next few days and in need of some entertainment. So, my dear friends, here’s a super long, double update for your reading pleasure. Thanks for all the views, comments and kudos. Merry Christmas!

**Chapter 4**

“OKAY.”

I said the word loudly and without context as I walked into the kitchen.

Hann and Ross both looked up from their lazy Sunday morning breakfast with confused expressions on their faces.

“What the **FUCK** does this mean?”

They jumped as I slammed the note down onto the table, accidentally knocking over a box of cereal as I did so.

“I write an apology and he gives me an ‘okay’?!”

I slumped into my usual chair. Hann picked up the piece of paper and studied it.

“It looks like he’s accepted your weird apology,” Hann said. “What more is there to say?”

“Eh, how about I love you Matthew? Matthew since you sidled up beside me in bed I can’t stop thinking about you? Matthew I made myself cum in the shower eight times this morning thinking about you?” I said and Hann shushed me.

“His room is just next door. Do you want to freak him out even more?” he said and I pouted.

“‘Okay’ is a weird response,” I huffed.

“‘Okay’ is a normal response mate. Not everyone can be as… eloquent as you,” Adam said, choosing his words carefully.

He frowned as he read my initial note to George again. A fresh wave of mortification rose up inside me. _Kindest regards_ , ugh, ugh, uggggh.

“I thought that this,” – I snatched the note off Hann and waved it dramatically in the air – “Would at least spark some kind of conversation between us. I mean I’m an _amazing_ flirt, but even I can’t work with ‘okay.’”

I sighed and threw the note back onto the table.

“Here’s a novel thought: Maybe he thinks you’re mental because you broke into his room in the middle of the night half naked,” Ross said around a mouthful of toast.

“Oh shut up you rotten little troll,” I snapped and Ross threw his half-eaten slice of toast at me.

I snarled at him and he gave me the finger.

“Fuck you Ross,” I said.

“Fuck you back,” Ross grinned, obviously loving that he had managed to get under my skin at 10:30am on a Sunday morning. Prick.

“How are all those spiders in your coffin?” He teased.

I shuddered. A particularly large one had appeared in the bottom corner of my room and I was too afraid to go near it. I had named it Pete in a bid to make myself less afraid of it. It wasn’t working. I fucking _hated_ spiders.

“I would like to put forward the motion that we all swap rooms every three months so this living situation is a bit fairer seeing as how I’m essentially living in a box,” I said, changing the subject.

“And I would like to put forward the motion that you maybe book some gigs soon so you actually have money for rent?” Adam said and I ran a hand down my face.

“I’m working on it,” I said.

The truth was all anyone seemed to want at the moment were DJs. It was slim pickings on the live music circuit in this part of the city. I was seriously contemplating getting a day job at Sainsbury’s just to take the pressure off a bit, but the thoughts of stocking shelves made me feel as if I was giving up on my dreams. Music was my one true love (aside from George) and 12 years ago when I had first moved to the city I had been convinced that I’d make it here. And I guess I still was. Granted my optimism wasn’t as bright as it previously had been back then, but hey hope floats.

I could always go back to delivering takeaway food if I needed to. I had done that for a while when I was younger, although had gotten sacked when I was stoned on the job one night (I had gone off-grid with someone’s Chinese when a particularly bad case of the munchies had hit). I still wasn’t welcome at the Wok-It-In takeaway. They were holding a grudge.

“I have been doing a bit of busking lately…” I trailed off.

I hated busking, but the odd time someone would throw a tenner into my open guitar case and at least that kept me in cigarettes if nothing else. Maybe I could up the ante and start heading out more. The high street was always a good shout, especially around 10am when all the lovely old dears were going to collect their pension. They always felt sorry for me but that was probably because I was usually hungover and looked like I was about to drop dead on the spot.

Ross cleared his throat loudly then making Adam and I both turn to look at him.

“They have been talking about getting a pianist to play in the hotel lobby during the afternoons and evenings when the guests are relaxing. I mentioned to Emma, the manager, that I might know someone,” he said and my eyes lit up.

“I can do it! I need a bit of practice, but I could definitely do it!” I said, all excited.

“I’m sorry for calling you a rotten troll,” I added, just in case it would help my cause.

“I’ll tell her you’re interested tomorrow. You’d probably have to wear a suit and it will be boring,” Ross said. “You also have to be nice to me… and you can’t flirt with the guests.”

“Ross, baby, love of my life, I’m always nice to you,” I said getting up from my seat.

“Debatable,” Hann said under his breath, smirking into his cup of tea when I narrowed my eyes at him.

“You know you’re always my number one Ross, even if George and I are having kids and getting married. And I swear I’ll be good. I’ll only flirt with the guests if they start it,” I said.

Ross groaned as I crawled into his lap and straddled him, interrupting his breakfast.

“Get off me Matty!”

I planted a kiss on his forehead as he tried to push me off him. A scuffle ensued and I yelped as Ross succeeded in his efforts and I landed on the floor.

“Calm down children,” Adam said, using what we called his ‘dad voice.’ He had to use it a lot when Ross and I were annoying the shit out of each other.

We all fell silent then when we heard the front door open and close. Footsteps down the hall. I craned my neck from my spot on the floor and caught sight of the back of George’s beautiful head as he slipped into his bedroom quietly and closed the door behind him. I glanced at the clock in the kitchen. He was obviously just getting home.

“Stride of pride much?” said Ross and Adam laughed.

“You might have some competition for your title of house fuck boy Matty,” Ross poked me with his foot and I slapped his leg.

So George had stayed out all night. Was he in a relationship? Was he just shagging about? Was he a drug dealer? Did he go out at night and fight crime? I needed to know more. But that stupid note, ugh.

 _Okay._ The word surfaced in my head again. What did it even mean? It was driving me crazy. I needed to forget about it.

“Does anyone have any spliff?” I asked from the floor and Adam rooted in his pocket.

“If I give you this you have to behave,” he said, holding out a huge joint.

“I always behave,” I said taking it.

“Debatable,” Adam said again, only louder this time so we could all hear it.

*****

It was Wednesday afternoon and I was straight-up _vibing_ in the kitchen. I was having a good week. Like, a really good week. Yesterday I had an audition at Ross’s hotel for the piano playing gig and had aced it. Granted it had been a long time since I played any classical music, but my grade eight Beethoven had been drilled into my skull so much as a child, I was able to give the illusion that I did this all the time.

I had also shamelessly flirted with Margaret, the 50-year-old head receptionist on the way in and I’m pretty sure she had put in a good word for me with the manager.

I had promptly went out to celebrate last night with Ross after I had gotten the good news and had ended up shacking up with a lovely bird called Maria who cooked me breakfast this morning before I left. And this evening, I’d be tinkling the ivories for some guests on my first official shift. I would get paid for my time by the hotel _and_ I was allowed to accept tips. It was mint.

I turned the volume up on my headphones and couldn’t stop myself from dancing to the music. I just _had_ to move when there was a good beat and Spotify shuffle had blessed me with a jam I hadn’t heard in ages – _Bohemian Like You_ by The Dandy Warhols. It complimented my good mood perfectly. It was a certified bop. An immaculate vibe, if you will.

I started singing as I danced around the kitchen, occasionally shoving Coco Pops into my mouth.

“Cause I like you, yeah I like you, yeah I like you, I like you, I like you, I like you, I like you, I like you, I LIKE YOU AND I FEEL WA-HAH WOOOooo – ”

I dropped my spoon and came to a complete stop when I saw George standing in the doorway, his eyes wide. He had fucking terrified me.

He looked as spooked as I felt. I became very, very conscious of the fact that I was holding a bowl of cereal and dressed only in a pair of old jeans that were ripped to pieces. My top had been discarded on the floor when the vibe had gotten too much somewhere around the second verse.

I watched, dumbstruck by how hot he was in broad daylight, as he quickly turned around without a word and headed back towards his bedroom, like he had changed his mind about coming into the kitchen now that I was there half naked and making a racket.

I ripped off my headphones just in time to hear his door close. I collapsed into a chair and forced myself to breathe. My heart was slamming.

Fucking hell, he was even more stunning than I remembered. He was tall, super fucking tall and well-built too. Muscular. He had been wearing a tank top and skinny black jeans. His arms were covered in tattoos. And that face, those lips – _oh my goddd_.

I felt all the blood in my body rush south.

I left my cereal sitting on the kitchen table and immediately went back to my room and had a wank while thinking about the stunning specimen that was living downstairs.

Laying there on my floor duvet in the afterglow from my right hand, I realised that I needed to speak to George properly. I _had_ to know more about him. He was so sexy and mysterious. Granted, he probably hated me given my penchant for making truly shocking first impressions, but I needed to learn more about him. I wanted to know everything.

“I have such a crush Pete,” I said aloud to Pete the spider.

Thankfully Pete didn’t respond.

******

“Give us a twirl,” Adam wolf whistled at me as I walked into the living room later that night.

I had just finished my first shift at the hotel.

“You look great!” Adam laughed as I spun myself around.

“You sound surprised love,” I winked at him.

“I’m just not used to seeing you look so professional,” he said.

This was true. I normally looked like someone who had just climbed out of the nearest ditch. But I looked professional AF right now though. I was clean shaven, my normally messy hair was slicked back and I was wearing a super flattering black suit. I had even polished my shoes for the occasion.

“Serving you dapper virtuoso realness,” I said, sitting down on one of the beat-up armchairs. All our furniture in the house was mismatched and old.

“Now you’re just saying random words,” said Ross, taking a swig out of a bottle of beer.

“It’s called fashion sweetie, look it up,” I said and Ross shook his head at me, but smiled nonetheless.

The boys were having a few beers and passing a spliff back and forth between them while they played FIFA in the living room.

“So how did you get on then love?” Ross asked.

I had gotten on better than expected to be honest. My first shift had gone swimmingly. I had played a mixture of classical music alongside chart topping hits such as an instrumental version of _Good Form_ by Nicki Minaj when I had gotten a bit bored. I had also made friends with a lovely older woman called Patricia who asked me if I was single and then tried to shill out her granddaughter to me (“She’s 29 Matty and no man, can you _believe_ that?” she had said and I had widened my eyes and went, “No, she’s _gorgeous_! Such a stunner. I can’t believe she’s single!” when she showed me the photos on her phone, because that’s the kind of stuff you say to cute old people).

“It went great! I got tips and all, and the tall woman,” I waved my hand in the air, trying to remember her name. Truthfully all I could remember was her tits. She was the general manager of the hotel.

“Emma?” Ross interrupted.

“Yes, Emma. She said I played like an _actual_ angel,” I grinned.

“That’s great mate. I’m so happy for you,” said Adam smiling.

“Yes boys, my luck is starting to change. I’m going to go tell George!” I said getting up.

They both shot me a confused look.

“Have you become friends now?” asked Adam, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, not exactly… but I did see him earlier,” I said, conveniently leaving out the fact that George had found me half naked again only in the kitchen this time. “And I figure that he’s just painfully shy,” I added. This was a blatant lie.

I didn’t know if George was shy or if he was actively avoiding me because I kept freaking him out, but during my shift I had come up with a plan of attack to get to know him better. I was literally going to become _so fucking annoying_ George had no choice but to start speaking to me. Even if it was just to get me to leave him alone. I just needed the chance to converse with him beyond ‘Okay.’ Once the line of communication was opened properly between us, I was confident I could flirt my way into his heart and we would be enjoying a Christmas wedding… well, a spring wedding at the latest because it was already mid-October.

Adam and Ross both followed me as I sauntered down the hallway to George’s bedroom. I knocked on the door. There was zero answer. I had no fucking idea if he was even in, but I didn’t let that deter me.

“Hey George, not a clue if you’re in there love but it’s me, Matty. Yes, the one who accidentally got into your bed the other night and the weirdo who was dancing in the kitchen earlier,” I glared at Ross when he said, “What the _fuck?_ ” loudly behind me.

Adam elbowed him in the ribs to get him to shut up.

“Anyway, I had a job thing today playing piano in a hotel and it went really well. Just sharing my good news seeing as how you live here now. By the way, how are you with spiders? I have a fucking massive one in my bedroom. I called it Pete because I’m too afraid to kill it but he’s starting to freak me out a bit now. I’m just not sure how comfortable I am with sharing my space with him, do you know what I mean? So what’s new with you? No answer, that’s cool,” I gabbled at the door.

“You have actually gone insane,” Ross said and I stuck up my finger at him.

“Hey George, do you smoke? Here’s a joint. I smoke on the roof of the kitchen extension some nights if you ever fancy a chat,” I took a zoot out of the inside pocket of my suit and placed it in front of George’s door like I was making some kind of sacrificial offering - summoning the spirit of my hot housemate.

“Alright, chat soon!” I said cheerfully and headed upstairs to my bedroom, leaving Ross and Adam standing in the hall together, throwing worried looks at my back.

The next morning when I went downstairs to make a brew, the zoot was gone from outside George’s door.

Result.

******

Over the next few days I continued my campaign of annoying the shit out of George. So far we still hadn’t actually spoken properly face-to-face, but I had gotten into the habit of sitting outside his bedroom door and just chatting to him (even if I wasn’t entirely sure he was in there most of the time). I had also left a few spliffs here and there and they were always gone the next day.

I found it oddly comforting speaking to George’s bedroom door and my conversations had been getting deeper and deeper. I had also started knocking on the door at stupid o’clock in the morning, when I was way too high and making my way from the roof of the kitchen extension (my preferred smoking spot) to my own little coffin upstairs.

So far George’s door and I had spoken in-depth about my piano gig, my mum, my brother, how much I fucking LOVED eating chocolate biscuits after a spliff, the fact that Pete the spider seemed to somehow be getting bigger which was very disconcerting, my intense fear of failure and art.

Ross and Adam were now solidly convinced that I had lost my mind, and maybe I had, but I just _had_ to know more about George and if that meant making myself a huge inconvenience in his life until he spoke to me, then so be it. I didn’t make the rules.

“You’ve lost it love,” Adam said to me, stepping over my legs, on his way to the kitchen one morning a few days later.

I was sitting sprawled on the floor, smoking a fag, my back leaning against George’s door.

“Look, forgive me for wanting to include our housemate into our daily lives and the general goings-on of this abode,” I said.

“I’m pretty sure George doesn’t give a fuck about your dead childhood dog,” Adam called from the kitchen.

I was about to line up an amazingly witty retort about how Nathan my childhood dog had been a fucking saint when I heard something. I pressed my ear up against the wood of the door.

It sounded like… laughter? I think. Actually fuck. I wasn’t sure what I was hearing but either way my stomach flipped.

******


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

“I just talked to your boyfriend,” Ross’s voice woke me up.

“Fuck off Ross, you potato,” I groaned.

I cracked one eye open. I didn’t have a window in my coffin but my body instinctively knew it was still dark out and, therefore, way too early for Ross’s bullshit.

“What time is it?” I croaked, pulling my blanket over my head.

“It’s 7:30am, rise and shine beautiful!” Ross’s voice was cheerful, way too cheerful for this hour.

He switched on the big light and I waved goodbye to my chances of falling back asleep.

“Fuck’s sake Ross,” I said groggily and then my brain suddenly woke up to what he had said moments before: He had spoken to my boyfriend. _George_ was my boyfriend (well, not yet… technically).

I pulled down my blanket and sat up, suddenly interested in whatever Ross had to say. He was standing in my doorway, a cup of tea in his hand. He was dressed for work.

“You what?” I asked and he smirked.

“I said, I just had a riveting conversation with your boyfriend in the kitchen. He was coming home after a late night and I walked in on him when he was making a brew,” Ross said casually.

I groped around in the space between my pillow and the floor and found a crumpled spliff. I stuck it in my mouth and lit up, coughing slightly as I inhaled.

“He looked exhausted. Said some fucking idiot keeps having deep meaningful conversations with him through his bedroom door,” he laughed as I picked up my pillow and threw it at him.

“Fuck you Ross, stop fucking playing with my emotions!” I snapped.

“Someone’s cranky today,” he said and I gave him an irritated look.

“Someone is cranky because it is literally the arse crack of morning. What is this? Is this _dawn_?” I said, letting my disgust be known via my tone of voice.

Ross rolled his eyes at me.

“You’re also talking absolute bollocks,” I added.

“George loves my conversations, I’m a delight,” I took another drag of my spliff and then, because I _am_ a delight, I offered it to Ross.

And then, because I am also an Aries and therefore stubborn, I grabbed him into a headlock as he reached down to take it from me.

“Matty, get off me!” he yelled.

I laughed as he lost his balance and then cursed loudly when he fell towards me and landed on top of me. His tea went everywhere, including my boxers. I yelped. Thankfully he took it with a lot of milk, otherwise it could have been a very unfortunate situation for my cock.

Ross and I started wrestling and somewhere along the way the stupid fucker managed to steal my spliff and crawl out into the hall. I lunged at his legs.

“Get off me you crazy bitch!” He yelled, pushing at my forehead with one of his feet.

“You’re a goblin!” I yelled back.

I was in the process of trying to bite Ross’s foot when Adam’s door opened and he walked out of his bedroom. He was dressed for work and had his coat on. He had clearly been up for at least an hour already and was getting ready to head out. He stopped and looked at us, slowly pulling down his headphones. 

Ross and I paused our fight.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Hann sighed, shaking his head.

He stepped over us and continued down the hall to the stairs. A few seconds later the front door opened and closed. He had left.

“Truce?” Ross ventured and I scowled at him.

“Fine, but only if you tell me the truth,” I said.

I pushed myself up off the floor and grabbed my spliff out of his mouth. I went back to my room, my boxers now soggy and clinging to me in a way that left very little to the imagination. I slumped down onto my floor duvet which was soggy now too, cursing as my back started to ache. I really needed to get an actual bed. I was too old for this shit.

“The truth is that I _did_ have a brew with the mysterious G this morning and your name did come up,” Ross said, going back to leaning against my door frame.

“I asked if you were annoying him and he said, ‘S’alright. He’s entertaining.’ That’s you mate – he thinks you’re entertaining!” Ross grinned at me like he had just told me the meaning of life.

I pictured George’s gorgeous face in my head again. His soft features, how cute he had looked when he had just woken up that night I inadvertently accosted him in his bed. He was dreamy. I sighed happily.

“Eh… mate?” Ross poked me with his foot.

“That’s good, that’s great,” I said casually (secretly I was picking out my wedding tux in my head).

“Anyway, I’ve now come to the conclusion that he’s a bit weird. He’s so fucking quiet. He did tell me that he works a lot of nights, but he didn’t say what he actually does. I sort of feel like he’s either super interesting or a serial killer,” said Ross.

“I _have_ to know more about him,” I breathed, considering how I’d react if George really was a serial killer.

To be honest he was so fucking beautiful I don’t think I’d care. I could easily become one of those sad wives you see in films who bake files into cakes for their men in prison. I’d totally do that for him. I’d be the Bonnie to his Clyde. I would rock his world in the conjugal trailer.

“I can’t believe I’m the only one who hasn’t been able to have proper face-to-face time with him. Maybe he _is_ ghosting me,” I sighed then. Or maybe George was just avoiding me like the plague after my embarrassing display in the kitchen.

But it wasn’t fair. Adam and Ross seemed to constantly be bumping into him these past few days. All I got was his bedroom door.

“Well that’s just because we’re always up when he’s coming back in from wherever he goes or whenever he needs a cup of tea. You could try just camping out in the kitchen?” Ross said.

I considered that, but it felt a bit desperate. What was I going to do? Literally hide under the table and grab his foot so he couldn’t leave when he realised I was there?

“We need to get him out of his room…” I said aloud, finishing my spliff.

“How about a Halloween party?” said Ross then and my eyes lit up.

Halloween. A party. Fucking _perfect_.

“Holy shit, is that a tarantula?” Ross leaned forward, squinting at the back corner of my room.

“Oh shut up Ross, it’s just Pete,” I waved my hand in the air distractedly – I was already planning what I was going to wear.

“You know, I can sort of see it now. Sort of,” Ross mused.

I looked at him as he folded his arms and studied my face.

“See what?” I asked.

“You and G, as a couple like,” he said.

I couldn’t stop the smile that started growing on my lips.

“He’s a possible serial killer and you’re in a long-term relationship with an actual arachnid. You’re both fucking weirdos – clearly made for each other!” Ross cackled.

He jumped out of my reach as I tried my hardest to smack him.

“Fuck you Ross!” I yelled at his retreating back as he left, laughing to himself.

******

When you’re a musician occasionally this really odd thing happens when you’re performing. It’s sort of like you just go on autopilot. It’s like muscle memory takes over and even though you’re playing, you find yourself thinking about anything else other than the music and yet, even in that distraction, you don’t miss a note. It’s a bizarre but common phenomenon and it was exactly what was happening to me as I sat at the pricey piano in the hotel’s lobby.

I was almost finished my shift for the evening and was deeply involved in the Appassionata by Beethoven – another piece that had been beat into me as a child – and while my hands glided over the keys effortlessly, I was thinking about more important things (sorry Beethoven).

Completely unaware that everyone in the lobby had stopped to watch me play, I was busy thinking about our Halloween house party. It was happening this weekend and I still had no idea what to wear. I wanted something amazing. Something that would make George realise that he was, in fact, desperately in love with me and _had_ to have me. I had contemplated showing up as a sinfully sexy Catholic priest... but then what if George was deeply religious and I offended him? Or what if he was actually Jewish? I did know that I looked _amazing_ in a dress, but what if that was too feminine for him? Decisions, decisions.

A round of applause woke me up to the fact that I had actually finished playing the piece. I looked around. People were clapping for me and the pint glass I had be using for tips had been filled while my mind was elsewhere. I smiled, stood up and took a bow. I could get used to this.

I thought about my costume all the way home on the bus while my headphones blared some old-school Placebo into my skull. I could be a merman, but the tail would make having sex awkward. I could dress up as Zorro, but would he recognise me if I was wearing a mask? What about a character from _Mortal Kombat_ – or was that too nerdy? I sighed and leaned my head against the bus window. London was chilly and dark tonight and the bus was overcrowded – everybody desperate to get home. All I wanted was to walk in my front door, get the stuffy suit I was wearing off me, have a delicious wank in a long, hot shower and then chill out with a spliff on the roof of the kitchen extension while I looked at the stars.

I knew Adam and Ross were up to something as soon as I got in. They had been chatting but their conversation died as soon as I closed the door behind me.

“Hello love, how was your day?” Adam asked when I popped my head into the living room.

They were sprawled on the battered old sofa, smoking a spliff and watching a repeat of _Love Island_.

I narrowed my eyes at them.

“What are you two up to?” I said.

“Us? Nothing,” said Adam, trying to act casual. He was a terrible liar. I noticed that he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Right,” I said sceptically, eyeing him as he smiled back at me.

Either way I had more pressing things to worry about, so I just left it.

I climbed up the stairs and went into my room, stopping dead in my tracks when I realised what they had done.

Footsteps on the stairs and then the two of them were standing behind me. Ross was trying his hardest not to laugh.

The bed was only a small single number from IKEA, and it barely fit into the glorified closet that was my room, but the horrible floor duvet was gone. My face crumpled and I was bawling by the time I turned and sobbed: “I fucking love you!” at them.

“We love you too mate,” said Hann, grinning as he pulled me into a hug.

“You’ve been working so hard, we just wanted to do something nice for you. We’re proud of you,” he said, making me cry even harder.

It was the “we’re proud of you” that did it. Everyone knew I had Daddy issues.

Adam pulled away from me and gently passed me to Ross while I cried myself out.

And then I had a thought. I pushed Ross away and immediately stuck my head back into my room, scanning the floor.

“Where’s Pete?” I asked.

My new bed was encroaching into his personal space quite a bit.

“Mate, not entirely sure what’s going on with you and this spider – is he a pet now?” Adam frowned, wiping at the massive damp spot my tears had left on his t-shirt.

“We have a very complicated relationship,” I sobbed, jumping slightly when I spotted the spider. He had repositioned himself and was now hanging in a corner of the ceiling. Thankfully it was the corner furthest away from my head.

“I really think you need to get rid of him,” said Ross, peering up at Pete.

“I can’t. I’m terrified of him, but he’s also sort of become a friend now? Fuck, I don’t know. Maybe I have Stockholm Syndrome. Christ, I need a spliff,” I sighed.

Adam rummaged around in his pockets and I looked at him expectantly.

“Sorry mate, best I can do you is a chewing gum or what appears to be 5mg of Valium… fuck, how did that even get in there?” he said.

I went to take the Valium but Hann closed his hand before I could grab it.

“Unless you have serious fucking back pain, you’re not getting this,” he said.

“I do! My back is broken from carrying Ross’s fat arse around the place,” I said, immediately running into my room and risking death by asphyxiation by slamming the door shut.

“You’re dead you little shit!” Ross snarled against the wood.

“Love you too Ross!”

******

When it comes to major life decisions, I tend to have incredibly poor impulse control. There was that time I let Ross give me a tattoo at a friend’s studio when we were both hammered one night and then there was a really ill-advised house party at my parent’s gaff one night just before Christmas that resulted in a window getting broken, the police arriving and a not-so-nice write up about a “local hooligan” (aka me) in the regional newspaper the following week. And then there was… basically my entire academic career in school and the less said about that, the better.

But my costume for this particular Halloween party? I had put _so much_ thought into it. Why? Well because it wasn’t just about the costume was it? This wasn’t a costume per se – this was _the_ outfit. The outfit that George would recall fondly on our 60th wedding anniversary as he told our many grandchildren the story of the night that he had fallen in love with me.

So yes, a lot of thought had gone into it and I had finally settled on something that was, in my opinion, absolutely perfect.

“And just what are you supposed to be?” said Adam, eyeing me as he stroked his ridiculous fake beard.

I was wearing leather pants so tight they looked like they had been sprayed on to me and not much else if I’m being honest. I was topless, showing off my tattoos. My hair was primped to within an inch of its life and my make-up was on fleek – sexy smudged eyeliner, my lips plumped up with a hint of a stain and I looked fucking amazing, if I do say so myself. The word _ravishing_ came to mind.

“You look exactly how you always look mate. You do know this is a costume party, right? You don’t look very dressed up,” said Adam.

“I am dressed up. Dressed up as a fucking LEGEND BABY!” I winked at him and he rolled his eyes.

The party was just getting into full swing and our gaff was heaving with people. Some of them I knew, most of them I didn’t but it was a good vibe. Tunes were pumping from somewhere in the living room, a thick cloud of spliff hung over everything and someone had brought a pile of ecstasy which was now just sitting on our kitchen table alongside a random open packet of condoms. Honestly, good luck to anyone who was brave enough to attempt a shag in my coffin upstairs. If Pete didn’t freak them out, chances are they’d injure themselves trying to manoeuvre around in such a confined space. Even having an enthusiastic wank in there was hard.

It was great that so many people had shown up to the party though and I figured we had until about 2:30am maximum before someone called the police on us – probably Mr Townsend who just seemed to hate us all with a passion.

I looked at Hann. He was dressed as some kind of wizard complete with pointy hand and a large stick. Trust him to be an absolute fucking nerd at his own party. He caught me looking.

“I’m Gandalf, from _Lord of the Rings_ ,” he said, before yelling: “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” at a random drunk person who was trying to reach behind him and grab a bottle of wine.

“Do you really think you’re going to pull in that costume?” I asked, cursing when he hit my shin with his stupid stick.

“For your information, I’m pretty sure I saw a sexy Frodo somewhere in here a little while ago… there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say,” he frowned.

I was about to crack a very inappropriate joke about magic rings when Ross appeared out of nowhere holding three shots of a bright red liquid.

“Drink boys?” he asked.

Ross’s costume was marginally better at least. He was dressed as a 1950s style reporter, complete with a trilby hat that had one of those ‘press’ cards sticking out of it.

“And what are you supposed to be?” Ross asked, looking me up and down.

“I’m a fucking LEGEN – ”

“Don’t get him started. Seriously,” Hann interrupted me before I could finish.

I scowled and then downed my drink, Ross and Hann following suit. We all started gagging at the taste.

“What the **fuck** is this?” Adam’s voice was hoarse.

I could feel the alcohol burning its way down my throat.

“It tastes like fire and unhappiness,” I groaned.

“It’s some weird absinthe Waughy brought back with him from holidays,” Ross grinned.

Absinthe? Fuck. The last time I had drank absinthe I had zero recollection of my night. Even now, years later when I tried to remember what had happened there was just a blank in my memory. What I _did_ remember was waking up without my pants and boxers in our front garden. I really hoped this wasn’t _that_ kind of absinthe.

Ross noticed my concerned expression.

“Relax – he said he bought it in duty free, so it can’t be that bad. Unlike that other stuff,” Ross shuddered. He had a rough night that night as well and, unfortunately for him, he had been the one who had found me in the front garden sans pants.

Whatever about the absinthe, I was starting to get antsy AF. The whole point of this party was so I could get some solid alone time with George and it had already been an hour and a half and there was still no sign of him. I thought the tunes and the smell of spliff would have been enough to tempt him into being social.

I stood on my tiptoes craning my neck, trying to see over the crowd of people crushed into our kitchen.

“Has anyone seen George?” I asked.

I had told George’s bedroom door about the party at least twelve times in the past few days.

“Oh bollocks,” said Hann.

“What?” I frowned.

“I saw him this morning mate. He said he had to work tonight but would try and pop his head in. I completely forgot to say it to you. I’m sorry,” Hann reached out and gave my shoulder a squeeze as my face fell.

“You mean he’s most likely ditched me? Fuck’s sake. I got all dressed up for nothing,” I sighed.

“Technically you’re not dressed up,” Ross mumbled.

“Oh fuck off Ross, you dildo,” I snapped and then, “Why has no one handed me another drink yet? My heart has literally just been broken.”

“You’re so fucking dramatic, I swear to god,” Hann sighed but reached behind him and passed me a litre bottle of vodka all the same.

“Here, hold this. I’ll just grab some glass – ” he stopped when he realised that I had already unscrewed it and was just swigging straight vodka direct from the bottle.

“Oh, it’s going to be one of _those_ nights then is it?” he said, but I ignored him.

I already had my sights set on a very sexy Batman who was giving me eyes across the kitchen.

“I’m not minding him when he gets into trouble later,” I heard Adam say as I gave Batman a nod that said: _Game on._

******

Two hours and much vodka later, Batman was boring me to fucking _tears_. His name was Joshua and he was a nice lad. _Too_ nice. He wanted to talk and get to know me. I just wanted to fuck away my disappointment over George who had ghosted me completely. Okay, so his bedroom door _technically_ never accepted my invite but if your housemates are throwing a party and you also live in said house, it’s sort of expected that you’ll show up, right? Isn’t that some kind of ancient house share law?

I sighed as Joshua nattered on about his job and how rewarding it was. He was a doctor or nurse or something like that. I really didn’t fucking care and I was so incredibly drunk I was past the point of even pretending that I gave a shit.

As he rattled on about night shifts and saving someone’s life, I just got up from where we were sitting on the sofa in the living room.

“Oh, where are you going?” Joshua smiled at me, all wide eyes and perfect, white teeth. He exuded an air of innocence that on any other occasion I would have taken great pleasure in ruining, but tonight I was too upset about the lack of George in my life.

“Joshua, Josh, love, I _literally_ can’t talk to you anymore. You’re like a dementor petal, you are _sucking the life_ from me. I have to leave. You understand,” I said and promptly exited the room, leaving him sitting there with a confused expression on his face.

I was hammered. Completely _wasted_ drunk. The kind of drunk where it feels like you’re having an out of body experience because someone is driving this thing, but it most definitely is not you. I had been swigging vodka and chain smoking non-stop since I sat down beside Joshua. I had the vague impression that I was even drunker than I thought I was as I pushed my way through the crowd of bodies that were pressed up against each other in the downstairs hall.

I had no idea what time it was and I was on my way to the kitchen to cry at Adam and ask him if he still had that stray Valium tablet when the crowd seemed to magically part and I spotted him: George.

George was so fucking tall it was basically impossible not to notice him. He was pushing his way through the crowd and trying to slip into his bedroom inconspicuously.

I was so drunk and still smarting over the fact that he had ditched me that I didn’t even think twice. I stumbled towards his bedroom door, opened it and walked right in like I owned the place.

George’s beautiful face looked up from his laptop as I entered and closed the door behind me. When he recognised me I saw a tiny little smirk appear on his lips. My anger dissipated immediately. He was so. Fucking. Handsome.

“Are you here to pass out in my bed?” he asked.

I stood there like an idiot, completely overwhelmed by the fact that he was _actually_ speaking to me. Had he just… made a joke?

“Sorry, I just got in from work. Halloween weekend is always crazy – but I pre-gamed and had a few drinks so I wouldn’t be too far behind the rest of you,” he explained.

He closed his laptop and ran his hand through his hair then, like he was suddenly getting self-conscious over the fact that he was interacting with another human.

So he had been drinking. That explained all these words that kept falling from those gorgeous lips.

“I thought this was a costume party?” he said then, looking at me.

I realised that this was the part of the conversation where I was supposed to say something. I shook my head slightly, trying to come to my senses.

“Oh, y-yes. It is,” I said.

“You’re not even dressed?” George frowned.

“Yes I am. I’m dressed as a fucking legend,” I winked at him and then realised how lame that actually sounded. Also, he had no idea that this is how I usually tended to look because he _never fucking saw me._

George gave me a confused look.

This was not going well.

“Yeah well, neither are you,” I said, getting a bit defensive now.

George was dressed in normal clothes – tight, black skinny jeans and a leopard print shirt that, normally, I would consider being a bit kitsch, but on George’s tall, broad frame it looked fucking incredible.

“Eh, I think you’ll find that I am,” he said.

I lost the ability to form coherent words as George stood up and unbuttoned his shirt in front of me. He looked around his room and then picked up a sad looking house plant that had a load of fag butts in its soil. He held it up beside him and cracked a cheesy grin, waiting for me to say something but I was completely dumbstruck. All I could see was his body. His stomach was toned to within an inch of its life. He had _actual_ abs. I was too fucking drunk for this. My eyes landed on the tiny trail of dark hair that ran from just below his belly button and disappeared into waistband of his jeans.

“I’m George of the Jungle, get it?” he said and I tore my eyes away from his body, trying to pretend that I hadn’t totally just been perving on him.

“The leopard print, the plant – jungle. Like the film,” he said, his dark eyes studying me, waiting for me to react.

I wasn’t sure if it was the shock, the absinthe from earlier or the fact that George was so incredibly beautiful he was literally blinding me, but my stomach suddenly decided that now would be an opportune time to freak out. It lurched and a tidal wave of nausea hit me.

“You okay?” George put down his plant and frowned at me again.

“I… I think I’m gonna yosh,” I croaked.

Before I knew what was happening, George ran towards me, shoved me out into the hall and pushed me into the bathroom, holding me over the toilet just as I proceeded to projectile vomit everywhere.

It was… not ideal.

George was pretty much holding me like I weighed nothing – his strong hands on my shoulders. When I had finished, he released me from his freakishly strong grip and I collapsed onto the floor, feeling mortified and sorry for myself.

He flushed the toilet and slid down onto the floor opposite me. He was so tall our knees were practically touching in the small space.

I put a hand over my face and groaned.

“You okay?” He asked me again in that deep voice of his.

“Yeah, I’m just trying to figure out the best way to move out, leave the fucking country and change my name because that was mortifying,” I muttered.

“Happens to the best of us mate,” George said.

My head was spinning. We sat in silence for a few minutes and then George got up.

“I’m going to get you some water. You’re probably dehydrated. You puked… a lot,” he said and he left before I could say anything else.

I woke with a start. My head was fucking slamming and I was freezing cold. I groaned and opened my eyes. I was sprawled on the floor of the downstairs bathroom.

My body protesting every second of the way, I managed to push myself into a seated position. My stomach lurched and I had a brief moment where I wasn’t sure if I was going to puke or pass out. I forced myself to take a few deep breaths to steady myself. The hangover hadn’t hit me fully yet. I knew I had this brief window where I was shaky, but relatively okay. It would be a fucking _killer_ in a few hours.

I looked around. There was a glass of water just beside me that looked like it hadn’t been touched and my head had been resting on a shirt. I picked it up and I couldn’t help the smile that formed when I recognised it. Kitschy leopard print. It was George’s. I brought it to my face and smelled the material. It smelled like Dior’s _Sauvage_ aftershave. Georgie had great taste.

So last night had been a bit of a bust, most likely due to all that vodka and the fact that I had sort of drank absinthe against my will (thanks Ross, you fucking knob jockey) but I had gotten my one-on-one time with George. Yes, I had puked everywhere and then passed out on him which was positively _mortifying_ , but instead of just leaving me here to die, he had brought me a glass of water and had let me sleep on his shirt so obviously George wasn’t too disgusted by me (I hoped).

Forgetting about how awful I felt, I snuggled back down on the floor with George’s shirt under my head and fell back asleep.

******


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I'm not going to lie to you dear readers, I am having _so. much. fun._ writing this weird little story. Thanks so much for all your comments etc. they keep me going and make the writing process much more inspiring! I hope you all had a great festive season and hopefully 2021 will bring more content from the boys and, y'know, actual gigs which would be awesome. Enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter 6**

“Hello my wonderful, beloved friends. How are we on this truly _blessed_ day?” I declared, practically waltzing into the living room.

“Go away Matty!” Ross swatted at me, all irritated, as I leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of his head.

It was Sunday afternoon, post-Halloween party and Adam and Ross were both slumped on the sofa, hungover as hell, watching old episodes of _Location, Location, Location_ and eating a chipper.

Despite the fact that it was three o’clock in the afternoon, I had only just managed to resurface from the bathroom floor. I had been awake for the past hour at least, but I was so hungover I had to give myself a lengthy TED talk filled with motivational quotes before I was physically able to pick myself up and move without feeling as though my soul was about to vacate my body.

“How are you not absolutely dying? You literally drank your bodyweight in straight vodka last night,” Hann eyed me suspiciously as I sat down beside him.

“Oh I feel positively _atrocious_ ,” I said, reaching a hand behind the sofa and clawing around blindly. Half of my clothes were still stashed there and I was _freezing_ due to the fact that I was still technically in my not-a-Halloween-but-also-a-Halloween costume.

I found an old, oversized black hoodie that I was pretty sure once belonged to some kind of conquest. I pulled it on. Cosy vibes.

“Despite my handsome, bright-eyed demeanour I feel obliged to inform you that I am pretty much dying and my head feels like it’s about to explode, but aside from that today is a _beautiful_ day,” I continued.

Adam sighed as I stole a handful of chips from his plate. He was eating the last chicken nugget – I had clearly arrived in here at the wrong time. If only my TED talk had been shorter. Sigh.

“Pray tell, why is today so beautiful?” Adam asked, playing along. He clocked me staring at his chicken nugget and offered me the last half which I happily accepted.

“Did Batman give you a blow job last night?” Ross piped up, before getting angry at the television: “Oh _fuck off_! There’s _no way_ this couple can afford a £550k gaff in Suffolk. He works in IT and she makes ceramic cows. This show is _boll-occcckkks_.”

“No, Batman did not give me head last night you twat,” I threw a chip at Ross and he stuck out his tongue at me when I missed.

“Today is a beautiful day because I had a riveting conversation with George last night,” I said, smiling at the memory of George’s gorgeous face and his fucking delicious torso.

I sighed happily as I replayed the memory of him slowly unbuttoning his shirt in front of me, silently thanking drunk Matty for remembering the scene in explicit detail. Mmm… premium wank bank material. I was truly, truly blessed today.

“Was this before or after you projectile vomited everywhere?” Hann asked, snapping me out of my reverie.

He smirked at me as my face fell.

“You know about that?” I frowned.

“I bumped into George in the kitchen at one point last night. He was getting you water. Asked if you normally got this fucked up at house parties,” Hann said.

“You’re well smooth mate,” Ross laughed.

“He left me his shirt to use as a pillow when I was passed out in the bathroom,” I said, getting all defensive.

“Shall we call _The Times_ and run your engagement announcement? Ross, alert the society pages,” Adam deadpanned.

One thing to know about Hann: He gets sassy AF when he’s hungover.

“Look, all I’m saying is he left me his shirt so clearly he cared enough about my wellbeing that he didn’t want me to die on the bathroom floor,” I couldn’t stop the grin that was taking over my face.

“Or maybe he’s just a nice guy?” offered Ross.

My grin disappeared.

“Shut up Ross! Stop pissing on my parade,” I threw another chip at him and this time succeeded in hitting him in the forehead.

“Well, we just don’t want you to get your hopes up mate. For all we know George could be married or anything,” said Hann, “he’s not exactly easy to get a read on.”

“Oh you two are such buzz kills,” I crossed my arms and made an annoyed grunt.

“We hope it works out for you. We really do. You’re getting old now mate, it’d be nice to see you settled,” said Ross in a rare moment of sentimentality. He was eating the chip I had thrown at him.

“The only place I want to be settled on is George’s cock,” I said and Adam nearly choked on the chip he was eating.

“ _Jesus Christ_ Matty!” Ross threw a cushion at my head while Adam coughed and spluttered.

“At least I’m honest about my intentions,” I shrugged.

“Maybe this is why parents don’t tend to like you,” Adam said, his voice hoarse.

We wasted away the rest of the day trying to recover. Our house was an absolute mess, but the three of us were in such a state we just didn’t have the mental capacity to face into the cleaning up. Sprawling out on the sofa and eating as much junk food as possible while watching inoffensive shows about buying property in the English countryside seemed to be the best plan of action.

As we watched another couple with a ridiculous budget buy a mansion in the Cotswolds, I cast my mind back to the previous night. Yes, I had been wankered but my memory was surprisingly clear. Usually I struggled to remember the antics I had gotten up to. I figured seeing George’s sexy body had caused a surge of adrenaline so strong, it had sobered up the part of my brain responsible for memories. I had no other explanation.

Gradually the day faded and night fell. At one point Adam got up and I could hear him half-heartedly trying to clean the kitchen.

I left Ross on the sofa giving out about the price of housing in Scotland and wandered into the kitchen, glancing at George’s door as I went. It was closed, as per usual. He was probably out. Or sleeping off the night before. I experienced a lovely flashback of his abs as I thought about him.

“I love you drunk Matty, truly I do,” I said to myself as I wandered into the kitchen.

“Are you talking to yourself?” Adam frowned at me.

“TED talk - I’m trying to motivate myself through this hangover love,” I said, tapping the side of my head.

Adam gave me a look that implied he was so hungover he was just done with the entire world.

“Do you want a brew?” he mumbled.

I watched him as he attempted to put some empty glasses into the sink. He sighed at them and shook his head sadly. He had clearly lost the will to live.

“What are you cleaning for mate? It’s too soon,” I said and he looked at me. “You have another two hours of hangover to work through.”

I put a hand on his shoulder and steered him to the kitchen table, forcing him to sit down.

“Two hours?” Adam groaned.

“Yeah, everyone knows you don’t start to feel better until twenty-four hours after your first drink. It’s like science or some shit,” I said, knowing full well it absolutely wasn’t anything to do with science. In fact, I was pretty sure I had just made it up then and there. But Adam listened to me nonetheless and he technically _was_ an actual scientist, sort of, so maybe there was some truth in it.

I made him a cup of tea and patted his head before I left him sitting in the kitchen and went upstairs to my coffin. I found a spliff and wandered downstairs and out into the back garden. It was fucking freezing outside and I cuddled down into the over-sized hoodie as best I could as I started climbing on top of the central heating oil tank beside the kitchen. I was gagging for a spliff and the flat roof of the kitchen extension was my favourite place to kick back and get stoned.

It all started when we moved in to 36C. Ross and I had been in the garden on our first night, playing a game of drunk extreme frisbee and said frisbee had been lobbed onto the roof of the kitchen extension (thanks Ross). I had ill-advisedly climbed up here to get it but had gotten stuck when I realised how drunk I was. So I had just stayed up here for pretty much the entire night and smoked a load of spliff, which didn’t necessarily help me sober up enough so I could climb back down, but whatever. It turned out that this particular part of our house was a super peaceful place and I just loved lying up here, trying to spot the stars in the city sky and letting all the stress drain away from my body.

I was in the process of pulling myself up onto the extension roof when the distinct smell of spliff filled my nostrils. Curious…

I popped my head up. George was sitting there, leaning back against the wall of the main house, headphones on, eyes closed, fat spliff in hand.

My heart leapt in my chest. _George was here. In my smoking spot._ First he hadn’t let me die last night and now he was _here_ , looking positively fucking angelic too. The lights from the garden below illuminated his face. He looked like a fucking Renaissance painting and I was… wearing a ratty old hoodie that was too big for me and looked like I had been dragged through a ditch backwards. I still had last night’s make-up on my face for Christ’s sake. I panicked and immediately ducked my head back down before George noticed me.

There wasn’t enough time for me to run back into the house and get changed and I absolutely did not want to miss this rare opportunity for some alone time with George, so I rubbed at my eyes furiously with the sleeve of my hoodie and then did a quick mental check:

Clothes? Not the best, but it was relatively dark and at least I had some on this time.

Vomit? Not a risk. The chips from earlier had been a cure. Nice one.

Vibe? Immaculate, as always.

I took a deep breath and popped my head back up. I took him in. George was so hot it almost brought tears to my eyes. I couldn’t stop the ridiculous grin that was starting to take over my face. I knew I needed to calm down. I needed to just get a grip and at least _pretend_ that I was cool and aloof.

George obviously felt someone staring at him. He opened his eyes and visibly jumped when he realised I was there. Him jumping made me jump too and I almost fell off the oil tank.

“Matty, you scared the shit out of me!” He said, pulling his headphones off.

 _Matty_. He said my name. It sounded _so good_ coming from George’s mouth in that deep, low voice of his. My brain instantly tried to imagine how it would sound if he was screaming it. A wave of heat flushed through my body. Deep breaths. _Fuck._ I was getting ahead of myself.

I swallowed and tried to get my shit together. Now was not the time to make another horrific first impression with George.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m normally the only person who comes up here,” I said forcing myself to be calm.

“Oh yeah, sorry. I hope you don’t mind? You mentioned it a few times. I thought I’d check it out,” said George, he sounded a bit awkward. His eyes followed me as I climbed up onto the roof properly and walked towards him.

“No of course not,” I said. So he _had_ been paying attention to my door-based conversations with him.

He watched me in the half-light as I put my spliff in my mouth and lit it up.

“And what do you think?” I asked, sitting cross-legged in front of him and sweeping my arms out to take in our surroundings.

“It’s nice. I’m not entirely sure it’s safe… but it is quiet,” he said.

“I like it,” he added as an after-thought.

I nodded my head. An awkward silence fell between us and I stole small glances at George as he looked up at the night sky and took a few more hits from his spliff.

It was so cold the sky was clear and a few stars were visible, which was unusual for London. Normally the smog blotted out everything.

I studied George, my brain obsessed with taking in everything about him. I had never focused on anything as hard in my life. My insides flipped at the sight of his strong jaw, his beautiful face. Every time I looked at him, he just got hotter and I had no idea how that was even possible.

I willed myself to memorise every curve of his face, the way his chest rose and fell as he breathed. I burned the image of him into my memory until my wank bank was completely full. To quote Shakespeare, my wank bank overfloweth.

“How are you feeling?” he asked then and I averted my gaze as quickly as possible so the fact that I was staring at him wasn’t obvious, even though it probably was.

I took a drag of my spliff and tried to act nonchalant.

“I’m not going to lie to you George, I am still a bit shook. But I’m doing better… um, sorry about last night. I am clearly atrocious at making a good impression,” I said.

“S’alright. I’m not that good at them either,” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“Why do you say that? Are you going to try and crawl into my bed half naked later?” I said it before I could stop myself. I was such a blatant flirt sometimes. _Ugh_.

To my surprise, George actually started to laugh. And what a fucking laugh. It took me a second to realise what the fuck I was actually hearing. It was _jarring_. His laugh was bizarre. I just gaped at him for a few seconds as he literally _cackled_. And then, because his laugh was so fucking weird, it was hilarious and I laughed at him laughing at me. Maybe my weed was stronger than I thought.

We laughed for what felt like ages and then George said: “No, no. I just mean I’m pretty shy. Introverted – that’s what my mum calls it.”

The fact that he had just mentioned his mum was oddly adorable. I almost felt bad for the fact that I was planning on fucking him as soon as I got my chance.

“Is that why I’ve been having conversations with your bedroom door this entire time?” I asked, trying to distract my cock which was starting to twitch at the thoughts of George and I fucking passionately on top of the kitchen extension.

George took a long drag of his spliff and then cracked a smile.

“No. I just wanted to see how long it’d take you to get fed up,” he said.

It was my turn to smile.

“Joke’s on you love, I fucking _adore_ the sound of my own voice and talking shit. I would happily hold a deep meaningful conversation with a chair if it meant I could keep talking,” I said.

George shook his head, amused, and stubbed out the end of his spliff. Another slightly awkward silence fell. Despite the fact that George was so tall and handsome, he definitely had a shy, introverted vibe about him that I found oddly endearing. I suddenly understood what Ross meant about wanting to know everything about him. He was strangely magnetic. He drew you in because he was so quiet.

And that _laugh_. Weird, but I could learn to love it.

“So what are you listening to?” I asked, desperate to keep our conversation going.

He gave me a confused look and I pointed at the headphones around his neck.

“Oh, sorry. Yeah, just some beats I’m working on,” he said.

My eyes lit up.

“You’re a musician?” I asked.

“Well sort of. I work in retail during the day and then DJ at night,” he said.

It suddenly all made sense – the weird hours, the fact that he was never home.

“That’s interesting. The DJ part. The retail part is probably the bins,” I said and he nodded.

“I play music too. I gig around the city – pubs, clubs. But at the moment I don’t really have any performances on the books so I’m playing piano in the hotel Ross works at… I’m aware that sounds a bit pathetic,” I frowned.

“No, not pathetic. That’s quite cool,” said George even though it absolutely was not even remotely cool or interesting.

Another awkward silence. I took another drag of my spliff. George took his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen and sighed.

“Well, I better get going. I’m DJing a stag do tonight. I have a feeling it’ll probably turn into a messy one,” he said, getting to his feet and dusting off his jeans.

He gave me another beautiful smile and quietly said: “G’night Matty,” as he made his way to the oil tank and climbed down, disappearing from view.

“Yeah, night G,” I called after him, using the nickname Ross had given him.

I had no idea if Ross had actually called him this to his face or not yet, but it felt nice as I said it. Familiar.

I waited for a little while until I was sure George was gone, then I stubbed out my spliff and climbed back down into the garden. I quickly and quietly made my way to the bedroom and had my jeans undone and my hand around my cock before my back hit my mattress.

I was so caught up in my delicious fantasy of George taking my dick like an absolute champ that I didn’t hear Ross until it was too late.

“Mate do you waAAAAH!” Ross’s hands immediately went to his face and he stumbled out into the hall.

“Fuck off Ross, you absolute fucking cheese plant!!!” I yelled at him.

“Jesus fucking Christ Matty! I’m blind. I have officially gone blind!” Ross was wailing in the hallway.

“I can’t cum under these conditions,” I groaned and said goodbye to my climax as I zipped up my pants.

I stuck my head out of my bedroom door and glared at Ross who was lying on the floor with his hands still clamped over his eyes.

“You owe me a fucking orgasm,” I snapped just as Adam came out of his bedroom.

“Would you both just shut the fuck up?” Adam snapped, voice thick with sleep. His hair was sticking up at weird angles. Adam hated being woken up.

“Ross walked in on me having a wank,” I pulled at my jeans. I was still half-hard and things were uncomfortable in my pants. Fucking Ross.

Adam rolled his eyes.

“Ross, stop crying. Matty, just… just fucking wank in the bathroom like everyone else,” He said, irritated.

The three of us just looked at each other and then collapsed into laughter.

The next day when I got home from another shift at the hotel, I was making a beeline for the kitchen when something caught my attention.

George’s bedroom door was slightly ajar and judging from the noise of furious typing, George was _actually_ in there. He had left his door open indicating that he didn’t mind if I bothered him.

I went into the kitchen to collect myself because I was positively fizzing with joy.

“We have a result,” I said to the mould on the kitchen ceiling.

My plan was working. George and I would be fucking in no time.

******

Over the next three weeks, George and I began smoking together on the regular. Most evenings when I wandered outside for my pre-bed spliff, he would be sitting on the extension roof listening to music or playing on his phone.

While George was still a bit awkward around me and not a huge talker, I had learned some essential information about him: He was born in Brussels. He had three sisters who babied him which he hated. He _loved_ spliff. He was a gigantic nerd and could talk about computers for hours. He had a wide range of facial expressions which were absolutely comical. He played the drums. He had once broken his collar bone by falling off a bus. He did yoga and was into weird spiritual shit.

All this new stuff I was learning about George had done nothing to dampen down the sheer desire I felt for him and the more we spoke, the more I became convinced that we were meant to be… or at the very least that we were meant to shag each other’s brains out for an undefined period of time.

“I’m telling you, we’re MFEO,” I said to Hann and Ross. It was Saturday night and the three of us were having pints in the local. George was out on a gig so, naturally, we were all talking about him.

“MFEO?” Hann asked.

“Made for each other – do you even internet?” I scoffed at Adam.

“Well, at least he’s a bit more sociable now,” said Ross. “Well done mate, I didn’t think you could do it, but your plan worked. You’ve finally broken him.”

It was true. A few nights ago, post-spliff, I had talked G into coming into the sitting room and playing a game of FIFA with us. It had actually been fun and all. He even stayed for the episode of _Love Island_ that was on when we finished the game.

“I may have broken him, but now I need to put my moves on him,” I said and Adam groaned.

“Just… be gentle with him. He seems like he’s a nice guy,” Adam said.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at Hann.

“I think what Hann is trying to say is just don’t fuck it up _too_ much when you inevitably fuck it up,” said Ross.

“Oh shut up Ross you cock womble and Hann? I feel well betrayed by you,” I said.

They both just smirked into their pints.

******


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** When I first started writing this fic, I was only planning on doing something short - maybe seven chapters maximum. But it's become a bit of a beast and has taken some insane twists that even I didn't see coming, so we've a good bit to go before the end. Sorry, not sorry! Thanks for all your comments - they are giving me actual LIFE in Covid lockdown part 3. Love you all - enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter 7**

“Do you think there’s any truth in this?” I shoved the article on palm reading into Adam’s face.

Adam sighed deeply and put down his fork.

“No… Where did you even get this?” he asked, peering to look at the title of the magazine.

It was the latest issue of _Cosmopolitan_. Someone had left it behind them on the bus and I had been drawn in by their ‘100 Tips to Please Your Man in Bed TONIGHT!’ article during my commute home from the hotel.

“My marriage line is non-existent,” I said, now shoving my hand into Adam’s face. “Do you think that’s bad?” I asked, sounding a little more panicked than I intended.

“Why don’t you go ask George about it and let me eat my dinner?” Adam waved his hand at me, trying to get me to go away and leave him in peace.

It was Thursday evening and Hann was looking a little worse for wear. He had been out the night before with some college pals and had arrived home literally singing at 4am, only to be back up for work again at 7. Normally he was the responsible one, which I had taken great pleasure reminding him of when he had called my phone at 4:01am to tell me he had forgotten his keys and I needed to let him in.

He was currently trying to stay conscious enough to finish spooning his half-eaten curry into his mouth.

“You’ll miss me when I get married, move to the countryside and take my leave from high society,” I said.

“Mate, you’re not a heroine in an 18th century novel,” he said flatly.

I glanced at the patch of mould on the kitchen ceiling.

“That’s debatable with these living conditions,” I muttered, causing him to smile despite his hangover-induced crankiness.

I left Hann in the kitchen and made a beeline for George’s room.

“George, you’re into weird spiritual shit. Do you believe in palm reading?” I said to George’s door.

His door was now always cracked open a small bit and we had gotten into the habit of conversing face-to-face like actual humans, but it had been a while since I had a proper door-based tête-à-tête. I sort of missed it. _Memories_.

I had just sat down and made myself comfortable outside when the door opened further and George’s beautiful face appeared, along with the overpowering scent of spliff. I couldn’t stop the large grin that took over my face. He smiled back at me shyly.

He looked a bit tired, like he had just woken up despite the fact that it was almost eight in the evening. He was also clearly stoned off his tits.

“I guess so,” he said, answering my question and then, “Do you want to come inside?”

“Georgie, I _always_ want to come inside,” I said, unable to resist the innuendo.

George blushed and looked at the floor as he disappeared back inside his room. He sat down at his desk, picked up a huge spliff and took a hit.

I was in the process of closing the door behind me when our front door opened and Ross arrived home from work. He gave me a quizzical look noticing me in George’s room and I stuck my tongue out at him and winked. I shut the door and turned my attention back to George.

My phone buzzed twice in my pocket. I took it out and looked at the messages as George typed away on his laptop, momentarily forgetting about our conversation.

> **Ross:** What are you doing in G’s room? 🤨
> 
> **Hann:** Be nice to him Matthew 🥺

I typed a response:

> **Matty:** **🍆💦🍆💦🍆💦**
> 
> **Ross:** 😏
> 
> **Hann:** 😱

I put my phone back in my pocket and sauntered over to George’s bed where I sat down. He offered me the spliff and I took it, taking a deep inhale.

“So ‘you guess’ you believe in palm reading?” I asked and George fixed his sexy, inquisitive eyes on me and shrugged.

“I guess. Why do you ask?”

I held up the copy of _Cosmopolitan_ that I was still reading.

“I have no marriage line. Should I be worried?” I said and George laughed as he took the magazine from me and started looking at his own palm.

“Which hand were you looking at?” he said after a few minutes of intense scrutiny of his right hand.

“Both of them,” I frowned.

“Then you’re fucked mate,” he grinned at me and I melted a little bit inside.

He went back to studying his hand and I took a minute to take in his bedroom, enjoying a few more hits of the joint. It was my third time in here, but the first time that I was sober enough to properly remember the experience.

There was a chair in the far corner laden down with clothes and a laundry basket that was full and very obviously being ignored. So he was a little messy. Cute. There were books everywhere with titles ranging from computer coding to Zen Buddhist meditation. A trippy print was hanging at the foot of the bed – a mess of colours and random letters. I looked up at the ceiling. The familiar crack that I had lain awake beneath and stared at countless nights when this was my room was still there.

“You know, I _do_ believe in this shit,” said George then and his deep voice brought me back to the present moment. I gave him back his joint.

“I had my tarot cards read once, _years_ ago and I swear everything she told me came true,” he said.

“Did you pull the 'Happy Squirrel' card?” I asked, vaguely remembering an old episode of _The Simpsons_.

He rolled his eyes at me.

“I swear it came true,” he said, putting the magazine down.

“But did it though?” I asked raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, well, a lot of it did. But there was one particular thing that never happened,” he frowned.

“Oh? Do go on love,” I said, leaning forward, _very_ interested now.

“Well, she told me that I’d break someone’s heart and I haven’t done that yet,” he said.

I smirked at that.

“Well now Georgie, I find that hard to believe. Have you looked in a mirror lately?” I added a laugh to the end of my sentence, turning it into a joke, because even though I was a blatant flirt, I felt like I had to gradually introduce George to my no-chill ways. I didn’t want him running for the hills before I even managed to get a cheeky kiss.

“Maybe you’ve been breaking hearts left, right and centre and just haven’t realised it,” I added.

“No, I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve been with Becca for six years now and…”

I didn’t hear the rest of his sentence.

Time shuddered to a halt and I while I was vaguely aware that G was talking to me, I couldn’t hear a fucking thing he was saying. I felt sick. My vision started to turn a peculiar shade of white at the edges.

“Matty? Matty?”

George grabbed my shoulder and gave me a gentle shake, which slammed my brain back into consciousness.

“You alright mate?” George asked.

I swallowed.

“Yeah, yes, sorry. I just had a moment. I thought I was going to white-out,” I said.

“Shit sorry, I should have warned you. This is _strong_ ,” he said, immediately stubbing out the spliff we were sharing.

“No, it’s fine. I just… I probably haven’t eaten enough today,” I lied.

“You don’t look great, are you sure you’re alright?” George gave me a worried look.

“Yes, totally fine love. Never been better,” I said, standing up. “I should go get some food.”

I practically ran out of the room and left George sitting there.

I flew up the stairs to my coffin and had an existential crisis.

I texted Hann:

> **Matty:** SOS. EMERGENCY. MAY DAY 💀💀💀
> 
> **Hann:**?
> 
> **Matty:** Just come upstairs!!!

I sat down on my bed and forced myself to breathe.

“This is bad Pete,” I said to Pete the spider, but he just ignored me. Asshole.

After a few minutes I heard Hann’s footsteps on the stairs.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of emergency this was, so I panicked and I brought a glass of water and half a packet of chocolate biscuits?” Hann said, as his head appeared around my door.

I snatched the biscuits out of his hand while he took a gulp of the water and brought a hand to his head. He was clearly still in the clutches of his hangover. How he had gotten through a day of work I had no idea.

“He has a _girlfriend_ Hann,” My voice was high-pitched and bordering on a wail. I needed to calm the fuck down. I shoved a chocolate biscuit into my mouth.

“Oh no,” Hann sighed.

“A girlfriend. _Can you fucking believe it?_ ” I said. Nope, there was no calming down happening. I was on the verge of hysterics.

“I can’t live in this reality Hann! I can’t live in a reality where George, the love of my life, has _a fucking girlfriend!_ ”

“Calm down mate… I mean maybe it’s not that serious? Like we’ve been living together for ages now. Do you not find it weird that she’s never come up in conversation once?” Hann said.

“He said they’ve been together six years. Six years! _Oh my god!_ ” I ran a hand down my face. Was it hot in here? I couldn’t breathe.

“Six years and yet she’s not visited him once? That’s fucking bizarre mate. Who is in a relationship that long and doesn’t see their partner?” said Hann.

“Fuck my life. I reject this reality! I reject it! Unsubscribe! Unsubscribe!!!” I shoved another biscuit into my mouth to try and numb the harsh pain of George being unavailable.

“What are we unsubscribing from?” Ross’s voice piped up in the hall making Adam and I both jump.

“Fucking LIFE!” I spat, sending crumbs everywhere.

“He’s just being dramatic,” said Adam as Ross’s head appeared in the doorway now too.

I narrowed my eyes at Hann.

“I have every right to be dramatic,” I snapped.

“Matty just found out that George has a girlfriend,” Adam quickly brought Ross up to speed.

“Ouch…” Ross exhaled and I nodded glumly.

“You could always just shoot your shot anyway and see what happens?” Ross said and cursed as Adam dug him in the side with his elbow.

“What was that for?”

“You’re pretty much encouraging him to try and break up a long-term relationship,” said Adam.

“Please, it can’t be serious. None of us have seen her once and he’s been living here for ages!” said Ross.

“Do you really want to be a homewrecker?” Adam said, trying to be the voice of reason.

I thought about it while I ate another biscuit. My initial shock was starting to subside. This was good. I could think a bit clearer. The biscuits were helping.

“Well, I _am_ a child of divorce,” I said, “So I know how messy breaking up a relationship can be. But on the other hand, I also know how miserable it is when two people stay together because they _think_ they have to…”

Adam rolled his eyes.

“So essentially, by continuing to flirt with George I would _technically_ be doing him a favour…” I trailed off.

“How’s that?” Ross asked.

“Because he’d know for sure if he was meant to stay with this,” I waved my hand in the air, “This _woman._ ”

“This is **not** a good idea,” said Adam.

“I need more information about this relationship,” I said, slapping the back of Ross’s hand as he tried to take one of my biscuits.

“Fuck’s sake Matty!” Ross snarled at me.

“Shut up Ross, I need these to think,” I ate another biscuit. Maybe George’s weed _was_ stronger than I thought. These biscuits were fucking delicious.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it,” said Adam, a warning tone in his voice as he looked at me.

But it was too late. The cogs were already turning in my brain. In order to seduce George properly I needed to know what I was up against.

“It’s time,” I declared, standing up and dropping biscuits everywhere.

“No,” groaned Hann.

“It’s time to go as deep in the creep as possible on social media,” I grabbed my phone and logged on to Instagram.

“For the love of god…” Hann put a hand to his forehead like an exasperated parent, “I give up. I swear. I give up. I’m going to bed. I literally _can’t_ deal with this. I need sleep.”

Fifteen minutes later, Adam and Ross had dispersed and I had found out sweet fuck all about George. It turned out that he pretty much didn’t exist in terms of social media and that fact not only made me respect him as an actual person, it also made him seem a million times more mysterious (and therefore sexy) in my head.

“I **must** have him,” I said, giving up and throwing my phone down on my bed.

“What would you do Pete?” I asked the spider.

“I don’t know mate, maybe you should just fucking ask him about it like a real person?” said a voice, which dissolved into laughter when I jumped off my bed in fright.

Ross was laughing outside my bedroom door.

“Fuck off Ross, you fucking ballbag!” I took off my shoe (a hefty New Roc boot) and threw it at him, immediately rushing out into the hall when I realised I had accidentally hit him in the head.

“Oh _fuck_ , I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’re fine. You’re totally fine. Get up, don’t tell Mum, fuck, I mean Hann. Don’t tell Hann!” I blurted, using the same older-sibling response that was engrained into me from growing up with a little brother.

Ross was, quite understandably, completely livid.

“You’re dead!” He snarled and I knew from the way his eyes were flashing that I had crossed a line by flinging my boot at his head.

What was the old saying? It’s all fun and games until someone gets a New Roc to the skull.

Ross whipped at me with his hand. I tried to dodge him but wasn’t quick enough.

“FUCK!” I yelled, my voice strained as he gave me the worst dead leg of all time.

“You absolute bastard!” I yelped, my eyes watering in agony. “Oh my god!” I limped around in a small circle while Ross laughed at my pain.

I tried to grab my boot again, this time fully intending on shoving it where the sun didn’t shine and doing even more damage to Ross, but he got to it before I could and threw it down the stairs right at the exact moment that lovely, beautiful, angelic George decided to pop out of his room and see what all the fuss was about.

The next few seconds happened in slow motion. Both Ross and I started screaming at George to duck, but rather than listening to us, George stood where he was, his eyebrows frowning in confusion as my boot flew through the air and hit him right in his beautiful face.

Both Ross and I gasped at the sound of the impact. It was… not pleasant.

George stumbled and clasped at his face with his hand. He cursed loudly and then a weird noise began emitting from him. Ross and I stood at the top of the stairs, both momentarily stunned, and then I realised that I needed to immediately administer first aid to George so he didn’t die.

“OH MY GOD!” I yelled, running down the stairs towards George who was still bent over and making a weird noise. I fell down the last three steps due to my stupid dead leg.

“George I’m so sorry mate!” Ross called sheepishly.

I shot Ross the most vicious death glare I could muster as I grabbed George’s arm and tried to pull him into a standing position so I could assess the damage.

“What the **FUCK** is going on out here?” I could hear Hann’s irritated voice coming from upstairs. We had woken him up and I knew there would be hell to pay for that.

Adam was a beacon of calm in most situations, except when he was hungover or tired (or a combination of the two which he just happened to be right this second). We would all pay for this at some point in the not-too-distant future.

I could hear Ross begin to babble out an apology to Hann. He too lived in fear of angry, sleepy Adam.

“I’m so sorry George. Ross was being AN ABSOLUTE TIT,” I yelled the last part of my sentence back up the stairs so Ross could hear me.

George was still making his weird noise. Fuck, was he crying?

I managed to manoeuvre him into a standing position and gently pulled his hand away from his face so I could see what kind of injury we were working with and I realised that George wasn’t actually crying. It was a laugh. He was laughing.

Fuck me, I still wasn’t used to his laugh. His high-pitched cackle freaked me out and I honestly had no idea where it came from given how deep his speaking voice was. It was both unsettling but also fucking hilarious.

“How high are you?” I asked him.

His left cheek, just below his eye was bright red and already starting to swell. He’d probably have a black eye in the morning.

“High enough that this doesn’t hurt as much as it probably should,” he said, chuckling slightly to himself as his laughter ran its course.

He gave me a lop-sided grin that reminded me of a golden retriever.

Adam’s bedroom door slammed angrily upstairs signifying that he was completely done with us and whatever we were doing.

“You alright mate?” Ross asked appearing again at the top of the stairs.

George gave him a thumbs up and I rolled my eyes at Ross as I linked my arm in George’s and gently tugged him towards the kitchen.

I put him sitting on top of the kitchen table and got a bag of peas out of the freezer.

“Owww!” George hissed as I pressed the peas against his cheek.

“I’m so sorry. Ross and I fight like we’re kids,” I sighed. “We’ve known each other since we were teenagers and I guess our emotional development got arrested at age 14.”

“S’alright,” said George. “I’m sort of like that with one of my sisters. _Fuck_ that’s cold!”

He tried to push the bag of peas off his face but I held firm.

“Trust me, you’ll be grateful for this when your black eye isn’t as horrible as it could be in the morning,” I said, then added: “Nurse Healy doesn’t take any shit.”

He cackled at that and I smiled.

“Maybe I should have another spliff?” he said and I shook my head.

“George, if you have any more you will literally be a fucking potato for the rest of the evening.”

He gave me a confused look.

“I mean you won’t be able to move or think. You’ll be inanimate, like a potato,” I explained, immediately regretting this incredible metaphor when I realised _how fucking stupid_ it sounded.

“I love potatoes. Fuck I would _love_ a Nando’s. Nando’s chips, get in,” he said it quietly, but with a level of passion I wasn’t expecting.

“Nah, forget Nando’s love. McDonald’s is where it’s at. Chicken McNugget meal and chips. Can’t go wrong. A cheeky McFlurry from the pound-saver menu if the universe smiles on you and you have an extra quid in your wallet,” I said and George cackled again.

I couldn’t stop the laughter that welled up inside me.

“You know, despite the fact that you just got skulled in the face with a boot you’re doing pretty well. You took it like a champ. I’m impressed.”

George grinned at me. He was clearly fucking out of it and I wasn’t sure if it was just because he had smoked enough weed to take down an elephant or if Ross had actually managed to give him a bit of a concussion. But should I use George’s vulnerable state for good or for evil?

Evil. Definitely evil.

“So… How come we’ve never met your girlfriend?” I said, trying to sound as conversational as possible. Although given the state of George, I probably could have just been like ‘Why are you shagging a bird when you could shag me instead?’ and he probably would have given me an answer either way.

“Becca? Oh, she lives in the States,” he said.

He wasn’t looking at me. I followed his gaze past me and realised he was eyeing my box of Coco Pops on the kitchen counter behind me. I reached across, grabbed the box of cereal and handed it to him and he immediately opened it and started eating them with his hand.

“I fucking love Coco Pops,” he mumbled.

Well at least we had one thing in common.

“So you and Becca, you’re long distance?” I said casually, inside I was thinking: _Focus Georgie, this information is fucking important._

“Yes, but technically we’ve never met. Ow, fuck!”

I suddenly realised that I was pressing the peas into his face with more force than necessary, but what he had said had thrown me.

“Come again love?” I frowned.

“I’m hoping to visit her next year. It took us a long time to build up the trust, you know?” George said.

“Oh yeah, you’ve got to have the trust,” I said, even though I had no idea what he was talking about. “But didn’t you say you’ve been a couple for six years?”

I needed clarification here.

“Yeah, six years,” George smiled.

I felt like I was missing something.

“So you’ve been a couple for six years but you’ve never met in person and therefore you’ve never…” I trailed off.

It took Georgie a second to catch my drift.

“Oh, oh. No. We’re a couple though. Like a proper couple. We just haven’t met face-to-face yet. But we speak every day, you know, text, email, IM – the works,” he said.

“That… that must be hard,” I said because I didn’t know what the fuck else to say. What do you even say to that? George had an online girlfriend that he had never met. _Jesus fucking Christ._

“It’s hard, but I love her. She’s the only girlfriend I’ve ever had,” he said and I snorted at that.

“I find that hard to believe.”

George blushed slightly.

“You’ve never been with anyone else?” I asked, slightly dumbfounded.

George’s face grew redder despite the frozen bag of peas.

“Well sure, I’ve been with someone before. You know _with_ with someone,” he widened his eyes for emphasis.

I had the distinct feeling that fully sober George would never have this kind of conversation with me.

“You mean you’ve shagged them?” I asked bluntly.

“Y-yeah, um…” he shifted on the table, his discomfort at my line of questioning obvious.

“But you haven’t shagged Becca?” I was blunt again, probably _too_ blunt, but I needed answers here.

George nodded – his movements small and shy.

“Six years, fucking hell…” I breathed the words.

I could barely go an entire day without an orgasm. Any longer than three days and I became a walking nightmare who would literally fuck a crack in the pavement if there were no other options available.

“Y-you think it’s weird?” George’s voice brought me back into the kitchen and away from my thoughts of trying to comprehend what it would be like to be celibate for so long, because that’s technically what George was doing.

I looked down at his big, beautiful eyes and I didn’t have the heart to say what I really wanted to say, which was: “Fuck yes it’s weird! Look at you – you are fucking _gorgeous_. If you were mine and even if I lived in fucking Antarctica I would find a way to get home every second day to fuck you at the very least. I would _crawl_ from Antarctica to suck your dick. I would also be having a word with the mayor of Antarctica to build a fucking airport so I could get home to shag you even faster.”

What I actually said was: “No mate. Of course not. The only thing that matters is that you’re happy, innit?”

George nodded but he was still frowning.

I had so many questions but it was obvious George wasn’t comfortable talking about his weird online relationship and I didn’t want to push things, so I decided to be nice and back off for now. Instead I offered him the following sage advice:

“You probably know this already, but if you’re ever having special time with your bird on Zoom, make sure you don’t turn on your camera until the coast is one hundred percent clear,” I said and George gave me a puzzled look.

“I literally gave someone’s gran an eyeful by accident once due to a miscommunication which could have, on retrospect, been completely avoided. It’s a long story,” I said.

George looked like he was the one with questions now.

I removed the peas from his face. He was so fucking handsome, even with his swollen cheek. I found myself getting lost in his features. He was stunning. Without thinking I brought a hand up to his non-injured cheek and brushed it gently, then immediately realised what I was doing when he pulled back ever-so-slightly at my touch. Oh my god, _what the fuck was wrong with me?!_

I tried to style it out by blurting: “There you are love. The peas are melting now so I reckon your boo-boo is all fixed. I’d give you a kiss to make it even better, but Ross would probably get jealous.”

George smiled at me, obviously still high as a kite.

“Thanks Matty,” he said.

I melted as he reached out and patted my shoulder with his free hand and then stood up and exited the kitchen, box of Coco Pops under his arm. I loved the way he said my name. I loved it. I wanted to record it and keep it forever.

I sighed as I threw the melted peas into the sink. George was dreamy. He was funny. He had a hot body. Yeah, he was a bit weird and seemed to have… odd social skills in his interpersonal relationships but my god he was hot and now he also had this whole ‘pure, inexperienced’ vibe about him too. I just _had_ to have him.

Standing at the sink my brain started to whirl. I wanted George but George had a girlfriend. If you could even call her that given that it had been six years and they hadn’t even met face-to-face yet. Would I really be a homewrecker if I started to put the moves on George? He was a beautiful man with an incredible body and she wasn’t appreciating him fully if the best she could give him was just a sad solo wanking session via FaceTime. Georgie deserved better. Georgie deserved to have his bed rocked and I was the perfect person to give that to him.

Despite the fact that I knew it was morally questionable, I found myself hatching a plan. George needed to see what else was out there and if ‘what else was out there’ just happened to be me? Well… bye, bye Becca.

I headed in the direction of my coffin, pausing briefly at George’s bedroom door where I heard the clack-clack of a computer keyboard. Figuring there would be World War III if Hann got woken up again tonight, I went to the bathroom and had a delicious, frantic wank in there thinking about George’s beautiful face and the way he said my name.

I vowed to myself that George would be screaming my name come Valentine’s Day.

Game on.

*****


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Thank you so much for all your comments on the last chapter. They are truly feeding me and inspiring me so much to keep going with this. I love you all. This chapter is freakishly long (I honestly didn't even realise how long it was until I pasted it into here) so sorry, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

**Chapter 8**

“Jesus fucking Christ, _how_ are you just sitting up here?” I said as I clambered up onto the roof of the kitchen extension.

“Ah, it’s not so bad,” said George, looking up from his phone. It was so cold his voice came out on a cloud of condensation. “It clears the head.”

“What’s the point in clearing your head if you’re just going to get stoned?” I frantically rubbed my arms and hopped from foot to foot in a desperate bid to try and warm myself up.

I was wearing a hoodie and a coat, but it wasn’t making any difference. For the past week, the UK had been going through an intense cold snap and it was absolutely _freezing_ outside. The weather people on the telly reckoned we might even get some snow.

“That’s a fair point,” said George, putting out the end of the cigarette he was smoking. I watched him as he flicked the butt off the side of the roof.

George and I had continued our nightly spliff dates as I was calling them and over the past few weeks we had been spending lots of time together (much to my delight). Yeah, George was still fucking weird but once he was comfortable and warmed to you, he could be pretty hilarious. These nightly rendezvous were quickly becoming the highlight of my day. I may have even gotten into the habit of sprucing myself up every evening before I went out into the garden.

Adam had literally just caught me having a fashion show about twenty minutes ago in my room while I was trying to decide what to wear.

“It smells like a can of Lynx got sick on you,” he had said and I had thrown an empty coke can at him because who needs that kind of negativity in their life? And what was so wrong about wanting to look (and smell) pretty for my future husband?

“How about we smoke inside tonight? I think my balls might actually freeze and fall off if we stay here,” I grimaced. George gave me a thumbs up and got to his feet.

“Do you want to go to my room?” he asked and my stomach flipped.

Does a bear shit in the woods? _Of course I wanted to go to his room._

“I would offer my coffin, but it’s so small we’d end up hot boxing it and I don’t know what your plans are for tomorrow love, but mine involve being conscious enough to play piano for the masses and I sort of need my brain for that,” I said and George cackled in that unique way of his which made me laugh along with him.

“Have you ever hot boxed in that room before?” he asked as we climbed down the oil tank and then he added quietly: “Nice aftershave.”

I smiled smugly to myself. Mental note: Fuck you Hann.

“Thanks and no, never. Weirdly enough it has never dawned on any of us to try it before. I sort of just avoided that room because of its spider population,” I said.

“Do you find it weird sleeping in what is pretty much a closet?” George asked.

“Believe me George, I’ve slept in weirder places,” I said and George laughed again.

I was glad I amused him so much.

“Well maybe we need to put hot boxing in your bedroom on our to do list,” he said and I smiled at that.

“Georgie, you can come hot box in my bedroom whenever you want,” I winked at him and he blushed slightly. Adorable.

“Although all that smoke probably wouldn’t be good for Pete,” I said, following behind him as we passed through the kitchen.

Ross and Adam were sitting at the kitchen table having a cup of tea.

“Evening mates,” I said and George breathed a quiet, shy ‘hello.’

Adam raised his eyebrows at me as we walked by and Ross mouthed: _What are you doing?_

I subtly brought my fist up to my mouth and motioned back and forth while sticking my tongue against my inner cheek, miming giving a blow job, behind George’s back. Ross rolled his eyes at me and I mouthed: _Fuck off Ross you fucking coffee table_ at him, although judging from the confused look on his face, I lost him somewhere around ‘coffee table.’ It was, I admit, one of my stranger insults.

“Do you think spiders can get high?” George was saying as he disappeared into his room ahead of me.

I could see Hann and Ross leaning out of their seats in the kitchen watching us as I closed the door behind me.

“I’m not sure, but his lungs are tiny so that much smoke would probably kill him. If he has lungs… I don’t know, do spiders have lungs?” I shivered at the thought.

“Mate, why do you let Pete stay in your room? You’re clearly terrified of spiders,” said George as I flopped down onto his bed like I owned it, which technically I once did.

“It’s complicated. At first I was terrified of him… okay, fuck it, I still am, but now he has a name and because he has a name I feel bad kicking him out or squishing him,” I shrugged.

George looked at me like I was a bit mad as he sat at his desk and lit up a massive spliff.

“I know it sounds weird, but he’s sort of my friend now. Pete and I have been bonded,” I continued.

True facts. Pete had watched me wank at least 400 times since he crawled into my life. We had a weird Stockholm Syndrome situation going on between us. I realised that while I hated Pete, there was some crazed part of me that was also willing to die for him. Go figure.

“Matthew Healy, friend of the arachnids. Living Buddha,” George declared on a cloud of smoke, his arms open wide.

“Oh fuck off,” I said, leaning forward and grabbing the spliff out of his hand.

I took a drag and coughed out a “Fucking hell.” I had no idea where George got his weed from, but it was always super strong. Superb product. I seriously needed to get him to hook me up with his dealer. I made a small, happy noise. Fat joint, beautiful man for company, soft, comfortable, warm bed. I kicked my shoes off and slouched down a bit more, getting cosy. I wasn’t planning on moving any time soon.

George and I chatted a little bit more, passing the spliff back and forth. When we finished the first one, I pulled out my own and lit it up. Gradually we started to get higher and higher. I wasn’t aware of how fucked I was until I realised we were talking about dinosaurs.

“Nah mate, a Brachiosaurus is the shit,” George was saying. “If they weren’t vegetarians, they would _fuck you up_ with that huge neck.”

He waved his arms around in front of him for emphasis and then suddenly stopped talking. We looked at each other and then both of us collapsed into laughter. Why? I had no idea, but all I knew is that thinking about a Brachiosaurus going on a rampage was the funniest shit I had ever heard in my life.

Our laughter was cut short by a pinging noise from George’s computer and he slowly turned to his screen. I watched as the smile on his face deepened.

“What is it?” I asked, although even in my high-as-fuck state I knew what it was.

“Oh, it’s just an IM from Becca,” George said. I begrudgingly took note of the slight tone of excitement in his deep voice. _Fucking Becca._

“Well, tell her I said hello,” I said, taking another hit of our current spliff.

He typed in a response and sent it off. His computer immediately pinged twice in quick succession.

“She says hi back and she hopes that you’re well,” George read aloud.

“Oh, I’m doing well mate,” I said. I was curled up on her boyfriend’s bed, high as a kite. I was positively fucking _glorious_.

George quickly typed in a response and informed me that his girlfriend had sent a smiley face emoji. They sent a few more messages back and forth.

“So how about you tell me a bit more about your job?” I asked, passing George the spliff.

“Well retail is pretty fucking boring,” he sighed.

He took the spliff and brought it to his lips, inhaling deeply and sighing out smoke, like the thought of his day job was physically weighing him down.

“Nah not that one, the interesting one – what you get up to at night,” I said it salaciously and George grinned.

“The DJing is alright. The older I get, the less I enjoy the club scene. But I love the music and it does have its perks,” he said.

“Oh? Do tell…” I leaned forward.

“Well, I’ve become friendly with some of the reps from record companies. Occasionally I meet them, you know how it is,” he said and I nodded, even though I had no fucking idea how it actually was.

His eyes lit up as he changed the subject and started talking about how he was keen to get more into sound production and leave the club sets behind him and I found myself mesmerised by the way the light of his laptop screen hit his face casting shadows.

He said something and his beautiful eyebrows creased slightly in a frown.

“Matty?” he reached out and touched my leg and I jumped.

“Hmm?”

“You completely zoned out there mate. I think you’ve had enough,” he said, then added: “Actually fuck, I think I’ve had enough too.”

He put out the end of the spliff in the sad looking potted plant I recognised from his Halloween costume. A flash of his perfectly toned torso skittered through my mind and I swallowed. My mouth was dry. Was it hot in here?

I was about to suggest cracking open a window or just taking off all our clothes, you know, whichever was easiest, when a stream of IMs from Becca flooded in. George’s laptop took up all his attention for the next ten minutes. The stupid thing just kept pinging.

“Do you want me to give you some privacy so you can chat with Becca?” I asked.

“Oh no, that’s fine. You don’t have to,” George said.

He sent another message and the pings stopped.

“You know you could ask her to join us if she wanted? We could Zoom her or FaceTime her or something?” I suggested. Secretly I wanted to catch a glimpse of my competition for George’s affections. Although I already knew there was _no way_ she was as hot as me. She was also probably not willing to turn the type of tricks in the sack that I was, especially given that she hadn’t even shagged George yet.

“That’s not really her thing,” George said, shifting a bit in his seat. He looked uncomfortable.

“What?” I asked.

“She’s not big on being on camera,” George said sheepishly. He busied himself with moving some books around on his desk to avoid having to look at my face, which I’m sure was a sight given that I couldn’t hide my expression.

I suddenly remembered what George had told me when I had a bag of frozen peas pressed against his face in the kitchen after his unfortunate collision with my boot. He had said that they chatted, IMed and emailed… he hadn’t said anything about FaceTime or Zoom.

I opened my mouth to ask the million-pound question of: “How do you get each other off if you can’t see each other?” but George let a strategic yawn before I could, giving me the not-so-subtle hint that he was tired. I took that as my cue to say goodnight and leave.

******

“I’m worried George is being catfished,” I declared as I sat down, throwing three packets of crisps into the centre of the wobbly pub table.

“Hello to you too love. Why do you think that?” Adam asked, saying the word “Yes!” under his breath and pumping his fist in victory as he managed to nab the only packet of salt and vinegar crisps before Ross could.

“Fuck’s sake Hann,” Ross mumbled.

I took off my coat and sat down.

“Well, it’s his girlfriend,” I did air quotes as I said the word “girlfriend” because, quite frankly, the fact that she was an _actual_ girlfriend was a bit of a joke.

I stole a crisp from Hann’s open packet and he rolled his eyes at me.

“Why do you always want food that I’m eating? You have your own bag right there,” he grumbled.

“It just tastes nicer when it belongs to you Hann. It feels naughty,” I winked at him and Hann groaned.

“Do you have to make everything sound like an innuendo?” He said and I snorted.

“Hi, my name is Matthew – have we met?” I said grabbing his hand and shaking it.

Hann looked unamused.

“My humour is not appreciated here,” I sighed, dropping his hand.

Hann sighed in return as I took another crisp.

It was Thursday night and we had all just finished work. There was a Man United match on the box and the pub was thronged despite the fact that it was only half seven.

“What has she done now?” Ross asked, loosening his tie.

It wasn’t that I had been slagging Becca off at every fucking chance I got, it was just that I couldn’t stop thinking about her and George (and their weird relationship). Spending more time with George meant that I was now privy to the very odd dynamic that they had together. It was truly bizarre.

“Aside from making George go fucking googly-eyed with her messages, she’s done sweet fuck all,” I sighed.

“Then what’s the problem?” Hann asked around a mouthful of crisps.

“That’s exactly my point. She just does _nothing_. They spend hours talking to each other and yet she won’t FaceTime or Zoom him or whatever,” I said.

Ross frowned.

“Hold up. So George has never actually _seen_ this woman in the flesh?” He asked and I nodded.

“Affirmative. Well, aside from pictures I imagine. But I’ve been on enough shit Tinder dates to know that you can easily fake those,” I shuddered thinking of one particular date who was about forty years older than the selfie he had on his profile. He was a fucking fossil in real life. But to be fair, we had enjoyed a bit of banter and he had plied me with free alcohol, but then he had gone in for the kiss and I had to high tail it to the nearest women’s bathroom looking for sanctuary.

My stomach lurched as I remembered his geriatric face lunging towards mine. Not a good vibe.

“You mean to tell me that George has been in a relationship for six years and he has never had a face-to-face conversation with her?” Adam raised his eyebrows and whistled into his pint.

“It’s weird, right? _Right_??” I looked at the boys and they nodded.

“But you have to remember mate… George is a bit weird too,” said Ross, throwing a cheese and onion crisp into his mouth.

I went to defend George, but then stopped. He _was_ weird. Hot as fuck, but also strange. Eccentric, if you will.

“Well you know what they say, different strokes for different folks. If he’s happy with the situation then you should bow out and just let him be Matty. It’s the adult thing to do,” said Hann, ever the voice of reason.

I shot him a withering look and he smirked.

“Speaking of ‘strokes’, poor Georgie must be ready to fucking _explode_ from blue balls,” laughed Ross.

“It’s a complete _tragedy_. Does she even realise what she has? He’s such a fucking specimen, in the prime of his life, and she’s just letting him go to waste. It makes my head hurt,” I put my head in my hands.

“What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sex?” Ross asked the table.

“Not six years anyway, that’s for sure,” said Hann.

Ross chuckled and looked at me:

“I’m probably going to regret asking you this, but Matthew?”

I thought hard.

“Three days, maybe?” I said and Ross threw his tie at me in disgust.

I laughed, momentarily forgetting my empathetic pain for George’s blue balls.

“I can’t help it if everyone wants to fuck me. I _am_ incredibly fuckable,” I said.

“And so modest too,” said Hann.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

“I take it that your plan to marry George hasn’t been progressing then?” Hann saw me eyeing his bag of crisps again and rolled his eyes: “Here, just fucking take them.”

I grabbed the packet and shoved some in my mouth, snatching the bag up into both hands when Ross tried to grab a sneaky crisp.

“Fuck off – ” I started but Ross interrupted me before I could finish:

“Fuck off Ross, you bag of knobs. I know, I know,” he mumbled.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” I said, turning back to Hann.

“I’m literally hanging out on George’s bed getting high every night now but Becca keeps interrupting us. How am I supposed to seduce him with my riveting conversation when his fucking computer and phone keep pinging with her stupid messages?” I raked a hand through my hair and threw my crisps onto the table.

“She’s like the cockblock version of Siri,” I groaned.

“At least you’ve progressed from the roof of the kitchen extension to his actual bedroom. That has to count for something?” Ross said and I shrugged.

“Maybe. I don’t know guys, I’ve never put this much effort into trying to fuck someone before. It’s _exhausting_ ,” I sighed.

“Lucky George,” Adam deadpanned and I glared at him.

“Don’t worry mate. You’re so fucking annoying eventually he’ll just give up and let you fuck him so you’ll leave him alone,” said Ross.

“Gee thanks Ross,” I said.

Man United scored and our heads all snapped towards the nearest television to watch the replay as the pub erupted in celebration. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Ross trying to steal a few crisps out of my packet during the confusion.

“Fuck’s sake!” Ross said, frustrated, as I slapped his hand away again.

******

I woke with a start as the front door slammed and Adam started yelling. I cracked open an eye and lifted my head off my pillow. I groaned and shifted positions on my bed. I was still dressed. I still had my shoes on. My phone was on the pillow beside me. I picked it up and checked the time as I rolled over onto my back. I had gotten in from my latest piano shift approximately 45 minutes ago and had promptly passed out face-down on my bed. I was exhausted.

Last night had been a late one. I had gotten a call for a last-minute gig at some pub I had never played at all the way over on the opposite side of the city. Optimistically thinking it could be a good opportunity, I had frantically managed to lug my guitar through the tube network but when I had got there my heart had sunk. The set was only 30 minutes long and there was, no kidding, eight people there. Ten if you included the two bored bar staff. Worst of all? What they paid me for the gig barely covered my transport. It hadn’t exactly been a career high point.

After I got off stage I was so depressed I had gone into a nearby nightclub and drowned my sorrows. I had also gotten off with a bird in the bathroom because I’m classy like that. By the time I managed to navigate my way back home, I was too wired and upset to sleep. I had gotten maybe two hours sleep, maximum, before I had to leave for my piano gig at the hotel.

“Matthew get down here!” Hann’s voice echoed up the stairs.

I groaned again and put my hands over my eyes.

“Matty!”

“Alright, alright,” I muttered, forcing myself to get up.

Hann was normally quiet so obviously something exciting had happened.

Hann was standing in the hall as I came down the stairs. He grinned at me and held up a bottle.

“Is that…” I trailed off, squinting at the label, “Champagne?”

Before Hann could respond, the front door opened and Ross arrived in carrying three huge pizza boxes and a few smaller ones.

“What’s going on?” I asked Ross, following him towards the kitchen, the scent of pizza catching my heart.

Adam had disappeared into the living room. I could hear him chatting excitedly on his phone, but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“We’re celebrating, or that’s what he told me when I bumped into him outside. He sent me to go get these,” said Ross, placing all the boxes on the kitchen table.

He smacked my hand away as I went to sneak a slice. I hissed at him. Ross gave me a dirty look.

“Wait till everyone is here,” he said.

“Go fuck yourself Ross,” I said, reaching for the box again and yelping as Ross punched me, giving me a dead arm.

“Matty don’t tell Ross to fuck himself, it’s very unbecoming,” said Adam appearing in the hall again. He stopped outside George’s bedroom door and tapped it. “G you in there? Come out, we’re celebrating.”

“You’ll never get a husband talking like such a strumpet,” he added as he walked past me and began opening the champagne.

I slithered into one of the kitchen chairs and shot Ross a look as I spoke:

“Yeah well orgasms are one of the healthiest forms of stress relief, so when I tell Ross to go fuck himself it’s because I care for his welfare. He’s terribly overworked with all that novel writing he’s not doing.”

“Ow!” I yelped again as Ross smacked the back of my head.

I was about to retaliate when Hann uncorked the champagne with a pop and a sleepy voice asked:

“What’s going on?”

We all stopped what we were doing and turned to look at George who was standing in the doorway looking deliciously dishevelled.

“Oh shit, sorry George. I didn’t realise you were sleeping,” said Adam.

“No, it’s cool. I was just having a power nap,” said George quietly. He shifted awkwardly in the doorway and stooped slightly, like his body language was automatically apologising for his ridiculous height.

My stomach flipped as my eyes roamed over him. He was sexy. He was wearing those wonderful low-rise joggers that leave nothing to the imagination and an oversized hoodie that looked like it had seen better days. I could see his bare chest peeking through the top of the hoodie where it wasn’t zipped up the full way, suggesting that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. A silver chain flashed against the bare skin of his neck. He was serving me Connell from _Normal People_ vibes with that chain.

I swallowed. Hard. And then subsequently choked when Ross nudged me. I glared up at him.

“Get your shit together. You’re practically drooling,” he hissed quietly at me.

“Fuck _offff_ ,” I slapped him and he slapped back.

We hit each other like two little kids, all hands and slaps, until Ross shoved me so hard I almost fell out of my chair. He laughed at me as I scrambled to not end up on the floor and I shot him the most unpleasant look I could muster as I righted myself.

Thankfully George was too busy accepting a mug of champagne from Hann to pay us any attention. We didn’t have any fancy champagne glasses, so a mismatched collection of mugs it was.

“So what are we celebrating?” I asked, taking my champagne like a shot. I had been given an espresso mug.

Hann passed me the bottle and I filled my tiny mug to the brim again.

“Mr Grayson has died!” Adam declared, a huge smile on his face.

George, who was mid mouthful of champers, spluttered into his mug.

“We’re celebrating an old man’s death? Bit harsh Hann, fucking hell,” Ross frowned.

Mr Grayson was the owner of the pharmacy Hann worked at and he had made Hann’s life a misery for as long as he had worked there. Despite being a huge wanker, he was also super old-fashioned in his way of conducting business and blamed Hann for everything that went wrong.

“Well, I’ll drink to that. Ding dong, the witch is dead. Bottoms up!” I said cheerfully, knocking back another espresso shot of champagne.

“No, fuck, I didn’t mean it to sound like that,” said Hann. “It’s terrible and very sad that he’s dead, but I’ve been given a promotion – they want me to take over as head pharmacist!”

“That’s amazing mate!” said Ross, moving over to Adam to clap him on the back.

“Adam’s boss, the dead one, made his life hell for the past few years. And his eldest son fucked off last year to become a travel influencer, whatever that is, so now Hann gets to run the show,” I said, quickly bringing a confused looking George up to speed.

“Well done Adam, that’s great news,” said George.

I got out of my chair and sidled up to Hann.

“I’m so proud of you. You’re amazing and a genius and you work so hard. Giz a hug,” I pulled him into a tight hug.

“You’re not getting free pills,” Hann said into my ear and I pushed him away.

“You never let me have any fun!” I said.

Adam pointedly looked at George, who had now been trapped in conversation by Ross to ensure he didn’t leave the party and I rolled my eyes.

“Shut it Hann,” I said and he smirked.

“But really, congratulations. I’m delighted for you,” I said and he blushed slightly.

“Right boys, are we eating this pizza or what?” said Ross loudly.

Two hours later all the pizza was gone and we were absolutely hammered. Somewhere along the way, once all the champagne had disappeared, a bottle of tequila had appeared and a weird game called ‘nugget, shot, shot’ had been invented where you threw a chicken nugget into your mouth and then did two shots of tequila in quick succession.

I was currently winning. I think. I wasn’t sure.

“Am I winning?” I asked, noticing my voice was a bit slurred.

George, who thankfully hadn’t disappeared for all this, was sitting beside me.

“No mate, there’s no winner. All we’re doing is eating and getting wankered,” his deep voice sleepy and slow and drunk.

“Not true, I’m winning,” Ross was lying face down on an empty pizza box. He raised his hand weakly.

“Ross, my love, it might be time you tapped out,” I said realising that I was absolutely fucked up if I was willingly being nice to Ross.

Ross made a groan of protest and Adam laughed.

“Alright mate, c’mon. I’ll help you upstairs,” Adam patted Ross’s back as he stood up and began the monumental task of trying to get Ross to move.

I was just about to get up and give Adam a hand when George slammed a shot glass onto the table and yelled: “NUGGET ME!”

I grabbed a chicken nugget and made my way towards George.

“You’ve done it backwards. You’re supposed to do the nugget first, not more tequila,” I said, standing in front of him. I was swaying slightly.

George reached up to try and grab the nugget out of my hand as I dangled it over him. I moved it away and laughed.

I was unprepared for what happened next.

His strong hands grabbed my hips and forced me down so I was sitting on his lap.

“Give it to me Matty,” he whined.

My brain short-circuited and I swallowed hard as drunk George pouted at me.

Then Hann’s voice:

“The _chicken nugget_ Matty. Jesus Christ.”

I held out the nugget, vaguely aware that Hann was vacating the room with Ross as quickly as possible, and I didn’t break eye contact with George as he leaned forward and grabbed it with his teeth and started eating it. My mind was conjuring up a host of filthy scenarios in my head, each one more graphic than the last.

I swallowed. I didn’t think I would ever consider a chicken nugget erotic, but here we were.

My dick twitched in my pants and I immediately went to get off George before I did something reckless, but George held me firm.

“Mate?” he asked as he finished the nugget.

“Mmhmm?” I responded, afraid to trust what would come out of my mouth if I actually started to talk. My head was a mess of sexy images: George’s mouth full of my cock, my mouth full of George’s cock, George’s sex face, George’s strong thighs thrusting…

I could barely breathe as George spoke again:

“Do you want to go do something?”

I nodded, my mouth dry.

Yes George. Yes I always want to go do something. I would literally walk on fucking hot coals for you. I would do a bungee jump. I would do anything you asked me to just do _something_ with you. Anything. I’d even do the weird stuff with you. I would indulge _any_ type of fetish you have. I would humiliate myself for you. _Anything._

“Do you have any on you?” he asked and I frowned suddenly confused.

“Condoms??”

George laughed awkwardly.

“What? No, weed. Mate, do you want to go have a smoke?” he gave me a weird look.

My stomach dropped.

“OH. Oh. Yeah, yes. I have some. Hang on,” I shakily got to my feet and crossed the kitchen, grabbing my bag.

George’s eyes lit up when I pulled out my stash.

“Nice one!” he said, getting up.

“My room?” he asked and I just nodded dumbly and followed him.

I wasted no time in rolling the largest, fattest spliff I could as soon as we were in his room. I needed to forget the awkward moment that had just happened in the kitchen.

“Holy shit, you are not messing around tonight,” George said quietly as I finished the spliff, brought it to my lips and lit it.

“I’m celebrating Hann’s good news,” I said, exhaling smoke.

I offered the spliff to George and his face lit up as he took it.

“This is my happy place,” he sighed as he exhaled his smoke and balanced his laptop on his knees.

“Well I’m glad to be of service,” I said.

George was facing me, the blue light from his laptop screen giving him an otherworldly glow. My brain kept repeating the mantra: _Gorgeous. Gorgeous. Gorgeous._

We took a few more puffs in silence. George’s computer pinged a few times and he typed in some responses.

“Is that Becca?” I asked causally, knowing full well that it was.

George blushed slightly. “Yeah, it’s her.”

“Tell her I hope she’s well,” I said. Secretly I didn’t hope she was well at all. Drunk Matty was a bit petty to be honest.

George typed in a response and his laptop pinged instantly. His brow creased ever so slightly and he glanced up at me, thinking I wasn’t watching him. He avoided my eyes quickly when he saw me looking back at him. _Interesting…_

I took another drag of my spliff and offered it to him and he set his laptop on his desk, turning it slightly so we couldn’t see the display. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought Georgie boy didn’t want me to see what was on his screen.

An atmosphere I didn’t like settled over us so I decided to clear the air by telling George all about my pathetic gig from last night. It did the trick.

“That’s grim mate, I’m sorry it was such a let down. But if it’s any consolation, we’ve all been there,” he said.

“Yeah?” I asked, shifting so I was more comfortable on George’s bed. By this stage I had kicked off my shoes and propped his pillow up behind my back.

“Once I played an entire set to one single person,” He shook his head as if he was embarrassed by the memory itself.

“Do go on,” I said, smiling slightly.

“It was just some random drunk person. I was playing at this crappy local music festival. God, it’s so mortifying,” he laughed.

“Was the drunk person into it at least?” I asked, leaning forward to take the spliff from him.

“Oh yeah. He was absolutely loving it. He kept screaming at me to turn up the tunes. At one point he took off his top and started swinging it over his head. I’m pretty sure he was on ecstasy,” said George and I laughed out loud at that.

“I didn’t know what to do, so I just thought fuck it. I lit up a spliff and just kept belting out tunes for him,” George said.

“You’re a true showman George. Entertainer extraordinaire. Purveyor of high quality experiences – even when you only have one person. You don’t let the standard slip. I respect that,” I said, reaching across to offer him more spliff.

He rolled his eyes at me as he took it and we both started laughing. I had the vague recognition that I was well stoned. I couldn’t get the image of George playing an entire epic festival set to some poor lost soul off their tits and rolling in a car park in Whitby or some shit.

“Are you always like that?” George asked then, when we both managed to compose ourselves. My stomach was hurting from laughing so hard.

“Like what?” I frowned.

“You’re always so… so…” George waved his hand in the air, like he was trying to find the least-offensive word. He settled on “verbose.”

“Verbose?” I repeated the word. “Georgie, my love, what is the actual point in having all these beautiful words in the Queen’s English if we don’t put any thought into which ones we use when we speak?”

“You sound like you should be a writer. Do you write?” He asked around the spliff, which was now wedged into his mouth.

“No,” I said, but then thought about it. “Well… I write songs. And I do have a proclivity for fucking awful poetry when I’m upset.”

George waved his arms around madly. The alcohol and weed had made him louder and more animated. I was into it.

“Awful poetry!!! You _have_ to let me read it!” he said, a huge grin on his face.

I groaned.

“Fuck, I don’t know why I told you that,” I frowned.

George pointed to the spliff in his mouth.

“Truth serum,” he said and then: “You have to let me read some. I would love to read your terrible poetry.”

“How about no?” I asked. I poked him with my foot and yelped when he grabbed it unexpectedly.

“Get off G!” I kicked at him pretending I was pissed off, but I wasn’t really. In fact, all of my senses were now keenly focused on the tiny sliver of bare skin between the end of my boring work trousers that I hadn’t changed out of and the start of my sock where his strong hand was gripping me.

I felt my stomach shift in a way that was _interesting_. Was this my life now? Was I actually getting turned on over the fact that George was literally touching my ankle? I remembered what Hann had said to me before. Maybe I _was_ the heroine in an 18th century romance novel.

“Show me your poems!” George tugged on my leg, causing me to slump down his bed until I was lying on my back.

“Fuck off George!” I yelled at him, swatting my hands in his direction.

George cackled, making me lapse into uncontrollable laughter. And then he stood up, spliff still in his mouth and promptly flung himself on top of me. It seemed that drunk George, properly drunk George, was very tactile. We wrestled on his bed until he managed to overpower me (which didn’t take long, he was literally twice my size). I squirmed beneath him, laughing so hard I was almost crying, trying to get free but I couldn’t.

We ended up in an arresting position: Me, lying on my back, George sitting on top of me, his knees on either side of me, pinning my body to the bed beneath him. A delicious warmth immediately began blooming in my lower stomach.

We both stopped laughing and I became very, very conscious of the weight of him against my crotch. Oh fuck. I willed myself to not get an erection, even though every single part of my body was fighting against me. I closed my eyes and forced myself to take a breath and think of the most disgusting things I could imagine – My geriatric Tinder date going in for the kiss, the smell of vomit, some kind of global injustice.

The feel of George shifting his weight slightly above me made me open my eyes, and as I looked at him, we had a fucking _delicious_ moment of eye contact. He slowly took the spliff out of his mouth and leaned forward slightly, spliff-holding hand resting just to the side of my face to steady himself, as if he was getting ready to climb off me. Our eyes were still locked. I tried to read what was going on in his head, but his face was blank. And then because I’m me, I decided to push the situation slightly by doing something risqué: Not breaking this sexy-as-hell eye contact that was going on, I turned my head towards the spliff and took a long, slow drag, making sure I angled my head in a way that best showed-off my features. I was going for coquettish beauty. George watched me as I inhaled, his eyes unwavering, and then, just like that, the moment passed as his laptop pinged on his desk.

He scrambled off me and took up his position at his desk – laptop balanced back on his lap.

_Fucking Becca._

I swallowed a scream of frustration as I sat up and exhaled the smoke in my lungs, repositioning myself so I was sitting against the headboard of George’s bed. I took my phone out of my pocket and browsed my Instagram feed for something to do while George rapidly clack-clack-clacked some responses to Becca.

A few times I noticed his eyes darting up to me quickly and then back to his screen. The next time he did it, I caught him with my own. Our eyes locked for a second. He looked away quickly. A slight blush appeared on his cheeks.

My stomach flipped.

I knew I was probably reading _way_ too much into things because we were both stoned and drunk but… was there a small spark here? A modicum of a vibe if you will?

I suddenly felt a bit giddy.

“So… do you miss this room?” George asked.

I was so caught up in my giddiness that I almost missed the question.

“Oh, oh yeah. Me and this room have some interesting memories,” I said and George pulled a face.

“No, not like that. Jesus,” I said. “Well… okay maybe a little bit like that, but that’s not what I meant. I meant in terms of my life.”

George took one more drag of our huge spliff and then put his laptop back on the desk. He leaned forward and offered me the end. I took it. Electricity sparked down my arm as his fingers brushed mine. His brown eyes flickered up towards mine again and then he looked away quickly and cleared his throat.

Okay. Fuck. That was a vibe. **DEFINITE** vibes were happening.

I swallowed. I felt like I was about to pass out. I was unprepared for the sudden wave of anxiety that slammed into me. The weed was turning on me. I was having too many feelings.

“You okay?” George asked, given that I hadn’t spoken in about five minutes.

I forced myself to breathe.

“Oh yeah, I’m good. I’m just tired,” I said.

“Yeah me too,” said George quietly. “Might be time to call it a night?”

I nodded as George got up and started rummaging in his wardrobe, looking for something.

I suddenly realised that I could see his laptop screen. I made a show of standing up and stretching, while sneakily having a read of his messages:

> **Becca:** I’m happy that you’ve made a friend, but do you not think you’re spending too much time with Matty? 🧐  
>  **George:** What’s that supposed to mean? 😕  
>  **Becca:** He’s in your bedroom every night. It’s a bit weird… 🤨

My eyes snapped up as George turned around. I was caught rotten. He gave me a questioning look. I panicked:

“I’m thinking of getting a new laptop,” I lied. “Is this one any good?”

“Yeah, you can’t really go wrong with a MacBook,” said George.

We walked around each other and he quickly closed the lid.

“Night G, sweet dreams,” I said, not waiting for George to respond.

I closed his bedroom door behind me and promptly went into the downstairs bathroom where I had a mini existential crisis.

There was a vibe between me and George and that was both enthralling and fucking terrifying for some reason. And Becca? If I didn’t know any better I’d say that Becca was a little bit jealous of the amount of time George was spending with me.

I splashed some water on my face and looked at my reflection.

“Things have just got interesting,” I said.

******


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Oh baby, I'm here with the next chapter of this ridiculousness for you. As always, thanks so much for all your comments/views/kudos, they mean the world and I loveloveLOVE hearing what you think. It brightens up my lockdown (which we're all probably going to be stuck in until March, FML). Also, I am such a crappy writer, like I started _another_ Gatty fic this week. I NEED to be stopped. I can't wait to share that one with you too, but only when this little weird one is finished. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter 9**

“There was a vibe,” I widened my eyes for emphasis.

Hann arched an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“Honestly, I’m telling you there was a vibe!” I insisted.

“Was there an _actual_ vibe or was your imagination just running away with you?” Hann countered.

“Eh, no,” I scoffed. “There was an _actual_ vibe.”

Hann’s stupid eyebrow remained arched quizzically. Seeing as how I was getting nowhere with him, I gave him an annoyed look and then allowed my gaze to wander around the pub. There were three women sitting at the table across from ours. One of them caught my eye and I gestured towards Hann with my thumb as if to say, ‘Get a load of my friend.’ She smirked at me.

“Do I need to remind you about that incident in the kitchen?” Hann drew my attention back to him.

“What incident?” asked Ross, putting three more drinks down in front of us. He had defaulted to the aforementioned table where the women were sitting because he was desperately trying to score with one of the blondes.

“Incident is not the word I would use,” I said and Hann shook his head, smiling slightly.

“This one,” – Hann pointed at me and I made an offended face – “was _this_ close to humping poor George at the kitchen table last night.”

Hann held up his thumb and forefinger indicating the smallest amount of space possible. Like those ‘this close to losing my shit’ memes.

“Slander!” I gasped.

“True facts more like,” said Hann crossing his arms on top of the table, smiling in that cute little way of his which was adorable but which I also hated.

“Was George aware of his intentions?” I could hear the laughter in Ross’s voice and I shot him a dirty look.

“George is like a… like a…” Hann frowned, trying to find the right word.

“Golden retriever?” I offered.

“Yes! That’s it. Thank you. George is like a golden retriever – he has no idea what’s going on but when he has a few drinks in him he’s apparently just happy to be included,” said Hann.

“Oh man,” Ross chuckled.

“Although to be fair, both of them were hammered,” Adam added.

“And then we got stoned in his bedroom. But despite that, DESPITE THAT,” – I raised my voice as the two of them laughed at me – “We were both aware enough to carry on a conversation and I was aware enough to know that there was a vibe between us. He was literally on top of me on his bed!”

I pulled my hood up and put my forehead against the table in front of me, sulking as their laughter got louder. They were mocking me. Dickheads.

“Some mates you are,” I grumbled.

“Are you sure you’re not just getting your hopes up?” Hann poked my arm, and I raised my head enough to look at the two of them again. Ross was gesturing at the women sitting opposite us to come and join us.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt mate. George _does_ have a girlfriend,” Hann said.

“Pfft, she’s a non-girlfriend,” I said dismissively.

“As opposed to what? An actual girlfriend?” Hann was rolling his eyes at me.

“I mean she doesn’t fucking _do_ anything. At least an actual girlfriend sucks your cock every now and then,” I said, sitting back up properly and pulling my hood down.

“Yeah, but only if you’ve earned it,” a feminine voice said.

I looked up. It was the woman who had smiled at me earlier.

“This seat taken?” She pointed to the seat beside me.

“Knock yourself out love,” I said.

Conversation at the table turned to a topic that was more stranger-inclusive now that our party of three had grown by three more, but I couldn’t stop thinking about last night. The look on George’s face during that intense moment of eye contact. The feel of him sitting on top of me. Those messages from Becca. There was a vibe. There _had_ to be a vibe. I wasn’t just making this up, was I? No. I could _feel_ it. It was visceral. That animal part of me just _knew_. It was a VIBE and no one could convince me otherwise.

The woman next to me brushed her arm against my own and brought me back to the present moment. She was driving me insane. She kept shifting in her seat, accidentally bumping her shoulder against mine. She kept asking me questions. She kept laughing and resting her hand on my forearm. I just wanted her to leave.

“I’m going to the bar. Are you guys okay for a drink?” she said then, getting to her feet.

Hann and I both said: “We’re fine.”

She moved behind my chair, placing her hand between my shoulder blades to steady herself as she squeezed between our table and the one next to us. I rolled my eyes.

“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered under my breath.

“She seems to like you,” said Hann, playing with a soggy beer mat.

“Christ, she keeps bumping into me. She’s driving me fucking _insane_. What is her problem?” She was really starting to mug me off.

“Mate,” Hann looked at me like I was mentally deficient.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“She clearly wants to shag you,” he said, rolling his eyes at my stupidity.

I blinked.

“And there it is. The penny has just dropped,” Hann said as I realised he was right.

“Oh my god!” I frowned, suddenly feeling a bit panicked. “I didn’t even notice that. Fuck… how could _I_ not notice that? I’m broken Hann!”

I raked a hand through my hair.

“It’s me. _ME_. And I didn’t even realise she wants to fuck me. I’m broken!”

“You’re not broken,” Hann gave me an exhausted look.

“George has fucked with my head and broken me. I can’t even remember the last time I got laid,” I said sadly. (That was a lie. I had gone home with some guy approximately two days ago, but I was spooked nonetheless).

“ _Fuck_ , is this what monogamy is like?!” I grabbed Hann’s arm, causing him to spill a bit of his pint as he brought it to his lips. He swore at me.

“Matty, fuck, let go. Jesus, you’re not broken. You must just really like George,” said Hann.

I gestured at Adam to shut up as the woman (who was called Allie… or Laura, I didn’t fucking know, I hadn’t been paying attention) came back to the table holding a glass of something pink.

I didn’t even give her a chance to ask why we were both staring at her. Instead I just stood up, grabbed her glass right out of her hand and necked it down in one. Now she was the one looking at me like I was mentally deficient.

“Mate – ” Hann started but I cut him off.

“You want to get out of here?” I asked her.

She considered my offer for roughly point five of a second and then nodded.

“Lead the way,” I said and she turned around and began walking towards the exit.

Hann grabbed the end of my t-shirt as I passed by him.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

“George has broken my cock. _This_ ,” – I pointed from myself towards the woman’s back – “This is medicinal.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Adam threw his hands up in exasperation.

******

6am. London city. Cold. Slight drizzle. I shivered and pulled my jacket around me as I made my way onto our road. I was only just getting home from my night with the woman from the pub. Her name was Allie (I had frantically looked for proof of name in her bedroom post-sexy time while she was in the loo so I wouldn’t look like a _total_ dickhead and thankfully had found a phone bill sitting on her dresser). The experience had been… _interesting._

We had gotten to her place and everything had been going swimmingly until we did the deed. I realised I was in trouble halfway through the act when I felt myself not being as, ahem, passionate as I usually was when I was in bed with someone. Her moans were putting me off. As was her soft skin, the smell of her perfume, the way her body was small and petite beneath mine. The only thing that saved me from complete and spectacular embarrassment was my brain which gave me the gift of allowing me to remember the previous night’s events with George in blinding detail. George’s gorgeous eyes. George’s smile. George’s weight pressing me into the mattress.

I gave her an orgasm (because I’m a feminist), but it didn’t give me the same sense of accomplishment that it normally did, and my own orgasm had everything to do with George and nothing to do with Allie. I had lay awake all night long beside her, counting down the minutes until I could slip out quietly and find my way home. I didn’t leave my number. I knew she’d be upset (she was all about the post-coital cuddles), but it just didn’t _feel_ right. Something was off and this was what I was pondering as I did my walk of shame (the term ‘stride of pride’ never really sat well with me to be honest) back to 36C.

George had somehow managed to worm his way into every single one of my senses. He _captivated_ me and I didn’t understand why. Yeah, he was sexy and I wanted to fuck him so badly I felt like I was about to die every time I thought about it ( _God, I wanted to fuck him_ ). But he was also funny and always interested to hear about what I had to say, even if what I had to say was total bullshit, which it usually was. And he was intelligent too. And artistic. And…

“Oh bollocks,” I said aloud when I realised something important: It wasn’t just about having sex with George. I actually _liked_ him.

Ugh.

Yeah, I had been telling Hann and Ross that George and I were soulmates and getting married but that was just banter. Now though? Now I had _feelings_. Great.

“Oh bollocks!” I said it louder this time when I got to the front door of our house and realised I had no keys with me.

I glanced at my phone: 6:15am. Hann would be heading out to work soon so there was no point risking his wrath by waking him up and begging him to let me in. And Ross? A natural disaster couldn’t fucking wake him, never mind a phone call.

I sat down on the cold front step and tried to make myself comfortable. I must have dosed off at some point because the next thing I remember is Hann poking me with his foot.

“It fucking _kills_ me that you are able to pick up women so easily. You know that, right?” he said as I blinked at him groggily.

“Have a good night then?” he asked, holding the front door open for me as he stepped outside and I got to my feet.

“I had a revelation,” I sighed, suddenly exhausted. Having _feelings_ was exhausting. I didn’t like it.

“Oh, that’s never good with you is it?” he asked and I shook my head as I made my way inside.

“Don’t think too hard about it!” Hann called after me.

I responded with loud groan and heard Hann laughing as he closed the front gate behind him. Thankfully I wasn’t in work today. I had a rare day off and I was grateful for it. I needed sleep. Proper sleep. The type of sleep where you just pass out completely.

As I walked up the stairs towards my room, I noticed something on the floor outside my door – it was a small, hot pink gift bag. I frowned as I picked it up and brought it inside.

“Alright Pete love?” I said to the spider, who ignored me as per usual. It was an icy relationship that Pete and I had. I was like an ignored wife. I’d ask him about his day, what he was up to and he would respond with a wall of silence.

I took off my jacket and threw it on my bed then peered into the bag and took out a small box and a note.

> _Bought this while off my tits last week. Thought you might like it for Pete so he can vibe when you’re at work. Smoke tonight? – G._

This was from George. Holy shit. My started slamming in my chest and I immediately ripped open the box, laughing when I saw what was inside: George had bought a mini disco ball.

I clutched it to my chest like it was the fucking jewel of the ocean from _Titanic_ and allowed myself to sink down onto my mattress.

There was no fucking way Hann and Ross could convince me that there was nothing between me and George. He was buying ridiculous gifts for my pet spider now. There was something here. There _had_ to be and okay, yeah, maybe it was just plain old heterosexual friendship, but the way he had looked at me the other night. _Chills._

I let out a noise that I can only describe as a happy squee as I lay on my bed and immediately started daydreaming about my future life in the countryside as Mr Matthew Daniel, because _obviously_ I would take George’s last name.

******

After receiving George’s unexpected gift, I was way too fucking excited and high on life to get the sleep I needed and I felt exhausted as I poked my head around his bedroom door that night. He had just gotten in from his shift at his day job (he was still wearing his uniform) and was sitting on his bed, in my usual spot – ever-present laptop balanced on his legs.

He looked up when he sensed my presence. His beautiful face stunned me for a second. Much like his weird laugh, I still hadn’t gotten used to that much handsomeness flat-out assaulting my retinas at the one time. I had to ease myself into it. It always took a while for me to be able to just look at him without gaping and/or immediately ripping off my clothes and flinging myself into his arms while yelling “TAKE ME!”

“Alright?” he asked, and I suddenly realised I hadn’t spoken for about three minutes.

_Awkward._

Rather than trying to manufacture something witty to say, I just held up the bottle of vodka and bag of weed I had with me and George laughed.

“Gifts from Pete to say thank you for his disco ball. You know I told him the weed was probably enough, but he insisted on the vodka too,” I threw the weed at George and he caught the bag with one hand.

He closed his laptop and reached across to his desk, grabbing a book, some skins and a lighter so he could roll. I sat on the chair opposite him and watched as he expertly crafted a roach using a tiny bit of cardboard from the box of skins.

“You’re such a pro,” I said, twisting open the bottle of vodka and taking a swig.

“Mate, if rolling spliffs was on the A Levels I would literally be in Oxford right now studying Philosophy or some shit,” George said, brow creased in concentration.

“Perfect!” he held up the zoot with a flourish as he finished his work and passed it to me. I handed him the bottle of vodka in exchange and he took a mouthful, frowning at the taste.

I lit up the spliff. The weed was strong. I had sprung for premium product this evening because George’s kind gesture for my pet spider had made me all emotional. (I was also sort of hoping we’d both get fucked up and repeat our little wrestling match).

“So, Pete likes his gift then?” George asked and I nodded.

“He was giving it loads to some dubstep when I left him,” I said and George cackled. I grinned.

“I’m glad. Honestly I don’t even remember buying it. I was obviously inspired by one of our stoned conversations. I was so fucking confused when it arrived,” He took the spliff off me and took a drag, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled the smoke.

He looked _good_ in his work uniform. The tattoos and dishevelled hair made him look edgy despite the smart clothing. I was into it.

“Online shopping while under the influence is never a good vibe. Once I accidentally ordered thirty Mariah Carey albums,” I said.

“Why Mariah Carey?” George pulled a face.

“Don’t give me that look. ‘The Emancipation of Mimi’ is one of the greatest albums of all time,” I said. “It’s bloody art.”

George just shook his head, a smile playing on his lips.

We sat and chatted for a bit, alternating between passing the spliff and the bottle of vodka back and forth. At some point, I ended up lying on George’s bed, my legs resting over his. It felt good. We talked about music, about George’s imaginary childhood friend (adorable), about my rocky adolescent years (not so adorable), about Palmistry (we found George’s fate line and the internet told us said line foretold soulmate relationships and I suppressed a scream when he brought up Becca – **_fucking_** Becca. Jesus Christ.) and we listened to some tracks he was working on.

I was tipsy and sleepy and high, and George’s bed was warm and soft, and George was angelic and pure and made of nothing but gorgeousness and joy.

I knew I was falling asleep as George talked about how he’d love to go and do a load of Ayahuasca in the jungles of Peru with a real life shaman and shit, but I didn’t stop myself. I drifted off with a very content smile on my face.

I had two distinct thoughts as I woke up. Firstly, _This isn’t my room_. Secondly, _Who the fuck is wrapped around me?_

I stirred, eyes still closed. It was way too warm in here. And then, a brief memory of last night – getting sleepy on George’s bed.

My eyes snapped open at that.

I was lying on George’s bed and George was spooning me from behind. _Actual George_ (love of my life) was still fast asleep and had wrapped himself around me. I felt like I was going to have a heart attack. This was _too much_ for my sleep-addled brain to take in.

As quietly as humanely possible, I managed to ease my phone out of my pocket and glance at the time. It was 5am. I had been here all night. A wave of giddiness rose up inside me as I felt the steady waves of George’s breath against the back of my neck. _Heaven._ I could stay here for fucking ever.

But then my body betrayed me by informing me that I was desperate for the loo. Typical. On the plus side, if I snuck off, I could make sure I looked amazing so when George did wake up, he’d find me looking positively ravishing. It was the type of shit women did in films, but fuck it. I wanted to be all ‘I woke up like this’ ala Beyoncé to show George what he could be waking up to every single morning.

Moving slowly and carefully, like I was wading through honey, I managed to extract myself from George’s grasp without waking him and made my way to the bathroom. I quickly took care of my bodily needs and then washed my face, put on some deodorant and brushed my teeth.

“Score,” I breathed as I found a bottle of aftershave one of the boys had left in there. It was Chanel and I immediately knew it belonged to Ross. He loved to smell fancy.

I dabbed some on behind my ears and then quickly put a tiny amount on my right hand and pushed it into my pants, dabbing the aftershave at the top of my pubic bone. I didn’t have time to shower and the last thing I wanted was any funky smell if George just happened to find himself in that vicinity when he woke up (Jesus fucking Christ I _hoped_ George found himself in that vicinity when he woke up).

“You are sexy. You are a fucking ride. George is powerless to resist you,” I said to my reflection to pump myself up and then I quietly crept back to George’s bedroom.

I repositioned myself so George and I were facing this time and gently wrapped his arm back around me. I had just closed my eyes when George groaned slightly in his sleep and pulled me closer to him, a wonderful turn of events. I snuggled up against him, getting cosy and then I felt it – George had a raging hard on.

I swallowed. My own dick immediately began twitching in response to this glorious new information. It took _everything_ inside me not to press my own hips forward against his, but I knew that would wake him up, so I forced myself to lay still and keep breathing so I didn’t pass out.

George groaned again and pulled me even tighter against him, his cock now firmly pressing into my hip. And then, just as I opened my eyes to steal a sneaky glance at him, I realised he had woken up and he was staring directly at me. Our eyes locked. I felt like a bolt of electricity had run from his eyes directly to my dick as he looked at me.

We just stared at each other, foreheads practically touching, George’s massive hard on pressed against me and my own dick already half-hard and rapidly growing by the second.

I knew I should say something but all the blood in my body was now in my pants and my brain had gone, “Lol, you’re on your own mate” and vacated the premises completely.

The next few seconds happened in tantalising slow motion. George shifted himself a tiny bit and my cock grazed against him. My breathing hitched audibly at the sensation. I could pinpoint the exact moment he felt my growing erection because his eyes widened ever-so-slightly and then his eyes flickered away from my own and landed on my lips. Without thinking, I slowly ran my tongue over my lower lip. On the inside I was screaming: _Kiss me. Kiss me. Fucking kiss me._

But George must have heard my inner monologue and gotten spooked, because he suddenly jerked away from me like he had just gotten struck by lightning. He rolled himself over onto his back, putting as much space between the two of us as he could.

His cheeks were burning red. I suddenly felt a bit awkward. I didn’t know what to do with my limbs, so I just pushed myself up into a seated position. George glanced at me again and I knew I should say something, anything, but the only words that were bounding around in my over-excited brain were highly inappropriate.

After what felt like an hour, George spoke:

“I… I guess we fell asleep,” his voice rose in tone at the end, like he was asking me a question rather than stating a fact.

So I guess we were ignoring the fact that both of us were horny. Cool, cool, _cool._

“Yeah,” I swallowed. I couldn’t stop thinking about his cock. His beautiful, hard cock was literally sitting beside me and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. What a waste.

“Sorry about that. I was knackered,” I said and then added: “The turbulent lifestyle I lead, it takes it out of me. It’s hard playing piano for all my fans every day.”

Surprisingly George laughed at that. A tiny bit of the awkwardness between us dissipated.

I slowly got to my feet, hoping my erection wasn’t too noticeable. As I moved, George quickly manoeuvred himself into a sitting position with his knees strategically drawn up close to him – he was trying to hide his own. I smirked at him as he caught my eye again.

“What?” he asked, a bit flustered.

“Oh nothing. You’re just positively radiant first thing in the morning,” I winked at him and he flushed again.

“Well, have a great day G,” I said, sensing I should leave before I did something extreme, like hump his leg.

“Yeah you too. Hey, could you close the door?” he called after me as I left the room and I stifled a laugh as I shut it.

With a hard on like that there was no way he _wasn’t_ going to have a wank as soon as I was out of ear shot. Speaking of, I needed to take care of my own. I brought a hand down to my cock and squeezed myself through my jeans. Sparks of pleasure radiated through my lower stomach. This was, most definitely, going to be the best wank of my life.

But first, something more important – the next stage of my plan.

I now knew without a shadow of a doubt that George and I were vibing. I needed to ramp up my efforts. I had to get him to let down his guard a bit more. To get him relaxed and having a laugh so he’d allow the obvious chemistry to fly between us. I was ready to make my move but I had to be careful.

I hopped into the group chat despite the fact that it was stupid o’clock in the morning:

> **Matty:** We need to have another house party. Ideally one where I don’t projectile vomit 🤢  
>  **Hann:** It is too early for this. Fuck off and go asleep 🤬  
>  **Matty:** Ross I’ve decided that this party is in your honour. Congratulations. If anyone asks we’re celebrating your good news 👍🏻  
>  **Hann:** FUCK. OFF. MATTY. 🤬🤬🤬

******


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Grateful for all your kind words and comments my loves! We just got landed with a few more weeks of lockdown here, so guess I'll just be writing like ALL the Gatty I can. Now... Did someone say _house party_? 🙈

**Chapter 10**

“I feel a bit weird about this,” said Ross.

I rolled my eyes and then looked up from his laptop, where I was ordering a ridiculous amount of booze from our local Tesco.

“What do I do if someone asks me what I’m celebrating?” he asked.

“You lie Ross, _Jesus_ ,” I muttered.

There was T-minus nine hours to go before everyone descended on our gaff for a party and I was completely fucking stressed out. I had a lot riding on this. Like, _a LOT._ I needed this party to be so fucking amazing that George had no choice but to fall madly in love with me.

I had put the invitation up on Instagram and had already given our address out to a host of random strangers, which I knew Hann and Ross would not be happy about, but fuck it. This party just _had_ to be a success. Tonight was the night that something happened with George. I was straight up manifesting that shit.

After our awkward morning together, I had convinced myself that having a party was the only way that I would be able to make a move on him. I had barely slept last night with anticipatory anxiety and I was so fucking stressed about what to wear, how to play things with George later and how to dance the fine line between getting drunk enough to have fun and getting so drunk I puked everywhere. (Again.)

“You alright?” Ross eyed me and I glared at him.

“ **Fine** , why?”

“You just have this weird chaotic energy literally radiating off you. It’s disconcerting,” he said.

“Fuck off Ross you absolute minge!” I snapped at him as he reached across and poked my forehead.

He started laughing.

“Aww, is Matthew nervous about tonight?” he teased. “Nervous you won’t get to shag your little boyfriend?”

He was obviously trying to get a rise out of me. The absolute fucking twat. I hated that it was working.

“I’m warning you. Shut up or you will live to regret it,” I said. I clicked order on my shopping cart which was full of booze, crisps, lube and condoms. I typed in Hann’s debit card details which I had handily memorised. I’d deal with the fall-out from that tomorrow (or whenever Hann’s next bank statement arrived).

“What are you going to do? Hit me with your shoe again?” Ross scoffed. He was in one of his annoying moods, which I also fucking hated.

I glanced at my feet and considered skulling him with a shoe, but I was wearing Converse today. They wouldn’t do much damage.

“I’m telling you not to provoke me you fucker,” I muttered again and put the laptop down beside me on the sofa.

Ross slapped at my leg, trying to draw me into a play fight. Ross really was an annoying sibling. I swear. I was starting to get properly mugged off but Ross was laughing, clearly enjoying being a pain in the arse.

And then he did something which I bloody fucking _hated_ – he jumped on top of me and started tickling me.

I screamed and immediately started thrashing around, trying to get the fuck away from him but he was relentless. He was also stronger than me.

“You are so fucking dead, you absolute prick. How **DARE** you!” I was yelling.

I finally managed to elbow him in the face and wriggle away from his clutches. I was so irate I could barely see straight. And as Ross clutched at his nose, I had a despicable thought. It was horrific, to be perfectly honest, but I was so enraged I didn’t care.

I grabbed his laptop, googled something, browsed for five minutes and then opened Ross’s Gmail account which was always logged in, because as well as being like an annoying sibling, he’s also really stupid.

I started reading aloud as I typed a new email:

“Dear Sir. My name is Ross MacDonald and I am an absolute fucking TWAT who desperately wants to be a published author but I am too chicken shit to send you my manuscript that has been sitting on my laptop for the past two years now. It’s actually pretty good too which is odd considering I am a massive ball bag in real life. I shit you not, I literally am a bag of dicks.

“By the way, I love to be a cunt to my friend Matty, who honestly is so nice to me all the time. But hey, that’s just the type of person I am. My shit is attached if you want to read it. I don’t even fucking care. Kindest, Ross.”

And then, without a second thought I hit the ‘send email’ button on screen.

Silence fell between Ross and I. After a few seconds he started to laugh:

“You didn’t just send that. Good one. I know you didn’t send it.”

“Oh yeah? Fucking try me,” I said. I turned the laptop screen around and showed him the email to the literary agent sitting in his ‘sent items’ folder.

The colour drained from Ross’s face.

“Now you have something to celebrate at the party,” I said as he lunged forward and snatched his laptop out of my hands, desperately trying to recall the email but it was no good. That email was long gone.

“Congratulations on taking the first step to your new career as a writer.”

I slapped him on the back with a little more force than was necessary as I exited the living room.

******

The party was raging downstairs and I had missed the first hour. I was in my coffin, lying on my bed and smoking.

“Don’t look at me like that Pete,” I said to the spider, who was now trying to build a web around his new disco ball. I had made Hann hang it up beside him because I was too terrified to get all up in Pete’s personal space. We had a good relationship, Pete and I, but it wasn’t _that_ good.

“I know I should be downstairs,” I sighed, continuing my one-sided conversation with the spider, “But Ross is fucked off at me and I’m oddly nervous.”

Both of these facts were true. Ross told me I had “ruined his fucking life” (direct quote) and had promptly taken a bottle of whiskey into the kitchen. He had also ratted me out to Hann, who had given me an ‘I’m not mad I’m just disappointed in you’ lecture when he had gotten home from work. And I was oddly nervous about interacting with George after erection-gate. I just wanted us to be cool and after our slightly awkward goodbye to each other the other morning, I wasn’t sure what the vibe was.

I was contemplating stalling and having one more smoke when my phone vibrated on the pillow beside me. I picked it up and couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at the corners of my mouth. It was a WhatsApp:

> **G:** Where are you? I know no one here and can’t find Hann or Ross☹️

There were so many random strangers jammed into our house tonight I wasn’t surprised, but fuck, _George had just text me._ He had actually sent me a text. He had never done this before, even though we had swapped numbers ages ago. Maybe I needed to print this out and get it framed. My stomach flipped as I typed a response:

> **Matty:** Coming love. Stay where you are. I’ll find you.

Despite the fact that it was my own house and I had lived here for ages, it still took me the bones of 20 solid minutes to locate George. I eventually found him in the last place I looked.

“Why are you in the utility room?” I asked, a half-smile on my face as I shut the door behind me.

George looked ridiculously out of place. The room was tiny and home to a dodgy old washing machine, an ironing board that none of us ever used and loads of cleaning products that none of us used as much as we probably should have. It also wasn’t insulated so this room was colder than the rest of the house.

George’s tall frame dominated the space making it feel even smaller than it actually was. He was sitting on top of the washing machine, his long legs dangling down in front of it.

“I’m in here because it’s quiet and I also stole this from the kitchen,” he said, shifting slightly so I could see the bottle of tequila behind him.

I grinned.

“You don’t have such a bad set up for yourself mate. Although it is a bit cold,” I rubbed my bare arms. I was just wearing a t-shirt.

“Do you want this?” George motioned to his hoodie.

“Then you’ll be cold,” I said, a part of me unable to believe that a man was literally offering me his coat. Well, hoodie. Same thing. Sort of. Georgie had been raised with manners. I liked that.

“S’okay. I tend to run hot,” he said, unzipping it.

I stopped myself from saying: _Yeah, I know, you were roasting in bed_ because I had a feeling bringing up what had happened would ruin the nice little vibe we had going right now.

I caught the hoodie as George threw it to me and I pulled it on. It was soft, warm and smelled like George – a mixture of some earthy aftershave that I couldn’t place and spliff. _Perfect._ George started laughing then.

“What?” I frowned.

“Nothing, you just look ridiculous,” he grinned.

I looked down at myself and started laughing then too. George’s hoodie made me look tiny. The sleeves were spilling over my hands.

“You’re a fucking giant!” I said.

“Better a giant than a toddler,” he quipped, and I rolled my eyes at him.

“I’m actually average height,” I said.

“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better mate,” George smirked.

I shot him a withering look.

“I was going to ask you if you wanted a spliff, but I think I’ll just keep my weed to myself,” I said and George laughed again.

“I was only kidding,” George looked around the room and then said: “Y’know, forget your coffin room. This would be an excellent place to hot box.”

And that was it. That was how this – how me and George – was going to happen. Alarm bells started ringing madly in my body.

George’s eyes landed on me as I reached into the back pocket of my jeans and pulled out a bag of weed. I grinned at him:

“Want to get weird?”

The room was so smoky my eyes were watering and I was so high everything seemed fucking _hilarious_.

George and I were sitting on the floor together, our backs pressed against the closed door. Music was thumping through the house and I could feel the vibration of the bass line travelling through the wood at my back. We had moved to the floor to try and escape some of the smoke, although the utility room was so small this was pretty much a pointless action.

George was laughing so hard beside me he had tears running down his cheeks. I couldn’t remember what I had said that had made him laugh so much, but whatever it was I was chuffed with myself for saying it. Our little hot box experiment was going swimmingly. We were chatting and laughing and, best of all, his phone had been pinging with messages and he had been ignoring them. This had given me a major confidence boost and maybe I was being a bit _too_ bold with my flirting and general cheekiness, but if I was, George didn’t seem to mind.

“Shot?” George asked when he finally managed to stop laughing.

“Yes please,” I said, shifting myself away from the door so I was sitting in front of him. I wanted to see his gorgeous face better.

He passed me the bottle of tequila, which we were just swigging from.

“You know technically we’re drinking each other’s spit,” I said, raising the bottle to my lips and taking a drink. I winced as the liquid burned its way down my throat.

“Are you accusing me of backwashing? How very dare you,” George gave me a disgusted look and I laughed.

“No, I mean like I’ve just drunk from it, and now you’re going to put your lips where mine have been,” I said.

“Sort of like a kiss,” he said then, which caught me completely off-guard, mainly because that was the kind of comment _I’d_ usually make.

George was looking at me, his eyes red from the smoke and slightly unfocused from the weed. There was a smirk on his face. My head started swimming.

Fucking hell – _was this a come on?_

I leaned forward to hand the bottle to him and try to buy myself some time to figure out what was happening, but my balance was all kinds of fucked from the alcohol and weed. I fell forwards slightly and George caught me, his hands on my chest, stopping me from face-planting onto the ground.

We were suddenly very, very close. I felt the subtle energy of attraction sparking up inside me. My senses all seemed to heighten as we just looked at each other.

The noise of the party faded away and I felt that intuitive side of myself, the part designed to fuck, take over. George was so fucking close to me. Our eyes were locked and I felt it – this was it, this was going to happen right here, right now. I just _knew_.

_Holy fuck._

As George looked at me, I had a really stupid thought: the utility room was the only room in the house that I hadn’t fucked in, so George was also doing me a solid letting me cross this off my list. What a legend.

I shook my head slightly. I was getting distracted.

“Alright?” George practically breathed the word and I nodded.

Now or never.

I felt myself beginning to move towards his face, going in for the kiss. My rational mind had took a backseat and my primal brain was in control now. It was me and George in this tiny room, high and a bit drunk and he was beautiful and I wanted to fuck him so, so, _so badly_. I was literally aching with the desire to fuck him.

George was closing his eyes now. Fucking hell. He was actually going to let me do it.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Closer, my hand rising up, getting ready to grab his jaw and guide his lips to mine.

Closer, his breath against my lips now, so hot it felt like it was burning me.

Closer…

I was literal centimetres away from sealing the deal when someone suddenly yanked open the door and George fell backwards out into the kitchen with me landing on top of him. We both yelped on impact with the tiles on the floor.

“What the fuck?!” I groaned, half dazed as I rolled off George so I was lying on the kitchen floor on my back.

I was too stoned for this. My senses were immediately assaulted by noise and movement and the smell of more spliff. I was so confused. What the fuck had just happened?

“Matty!” Hann’s drunk face appeared over mine.

I could hear George cursing beside me – he had landed pretty heavily on his back, no helped by the fact that I was on top of him.

“You’ll never guess what’s just happened!”

“Hann what the fuc – ” I started but Hann grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet.

“C’mon George – you’re part of this too,” He nudged George with his foot and George groaned but got to his feet.

Drunk Hann immediately started pushing both of us towards the back door.

“Why are we going outside? It’s freezing!” I complained as Hann forced me out into the garden.

Ross was sitting at the sad little plastic patio furniture set that we had inherited from the house’s previous tenants. It was so cold no one else was outside.

“Oh fuck this. If this is some kind of drunk family therapy I’m not interested. Come on George,” I tried to grab George’s arm to leave but Hann stopped me.

“Ross has some news,” Hann said.

“What? That he’s a fucking begonia,” I said, silently impressed by my ability to keep finding horticultural-related insults for Ross.

“No mate,” Ross got to his feet and walked over to us.

I looked at George and our eyes met. I grinned at him and he immediately looked away, a slightly startled expression on his face. An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. Tits. Maybe making a move on him in the utility room hadn’t been such a good idea. I felt like I might need to have a cry.

“What do you want Ross for fuck’s sake?” I snapped.

“That literary agent you sent that awful email to this morning. Matty, mate, he just rang me. He took a look at my manuscript out of curiosity because he said he had never received such a rude email before. He rang to say he couldn’t stop reading it… he wants to meet me to speak about representation,” said Ross.

I blinked.

“Come again love?” I said. My weed-addled brain was having trouble processing any information other than ‘I think I’ve cocked it up with George’ at that moment.

“Matty, you somehow managed to get me a meeting with a literary agent!” Ross grabbed me into a bear hug before I could stop him.

“Well… I guess you’re welcome then,” I said and he laughed, releasing me.

“Oh don’t be like that sweetheart. C’mon, cheer up,” Ross poked my cheek and despite myself I smiled at him.

“I told you your stupid book was good you twat,” I said.

“Champagne all round!” declared Hann and then, “Fuck, wait, we don’t actually have any. And the off-license is closed.”

“I have this?” George’s quiet voice made us all look at him.

He held up the bottle of tequila from the utility room.

“Nice one G. Tequila time!” Ross said as he grabbed the bottle off him and took a swig.

I remembered what I had said to George about our lips touching via the bottle. I tried to catch his eye again and I did for a second, but he quickly looked away. He was uncomfortable. I had really fucked this up. _Fuck._

George’s phone started to ring. He took it out of his pocket, glanced at the screen and then said:

“I better go take this. Well done Ross – that’s brilliant news.”

George made his way back inside, leaving the three of us standing there in the garden. My heart was sinking. Bollocks. Absolute fucking _bollocks._

Hann let out a low whistle once George had closed the kitchen door behind him.

“Fucking hell mate – don’t think you were messing about those vibes anymore,” he said.

“You got all of that from this?” I gestured to the garden. “I’m surprised by your powers of perception Hann.”

“Well, that and the fact that you were on top of him when I opened the door to the utility room,” Hann winked at me.

Ross, who was midway through another mouthful of tequila, spat it out: “What?!”

“Oh, and you’re wearing George’s hoodie,” Hann pointed at me and I looked down at the hoodie. I had forgotten about it.

“We almost kissed,” I said, immediately holding up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture when both of them started cheering.

“I said _almost._ The vibe died as soon as we came out here. Also, thanks for being the biggest cock block of the century Hann. Myself and my dick appreciate it.”

I gave Hann a sarcastic thumbs up and he had the good grace to look genuinely sorry.

“Do you think it has something to do with his girlfriend?” Hann asked, obviously trying to take the blame away from himself.

“Oh fucking probably,” I said. “It’s always got something to do with her innit? What’s she got that I don’t have?”

Adam wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

“Maybe George is just confused about how he feels?” he said.

“Maybe,” I sighed. “I need some fucking wine.”

I shrugged off Hann’s arm and made my way back into the house. I grabbed a bottle of red from the kitchen and walked out into the hall, silently noting that George’s bedroom door was shut. Brilliant.

I sat in the living room and drank until my judgement was impaired enough to give me the courage I needed to send George a message because I couldn’t just pretend that what had happened in the utility room didn’t actually happen:

> **Matty:** Sorry if things got a bit weird in the utility room earlier…

I hit send and my heart immediately started to pound. It was a risky text. I was pretty much drawing glaring attention to the fact that George and I had almost kissed and if George wasn’t into me, now was the moment when I would have my heart broken and my ego would take a huge hit. I was clearly a masochist.

I was about to put my phone back in my pocket and find someone to fuck so I didn’t have to be alone tonight, when it vibrated. I got such a fright I dropped it and let out a weird high-pitched noise of distress.

“Alright mate?” A random guy sitting beside me gave me a weird look.

I just nodded, grabbed my phone and ran upstairs to my room. If George was going to destroy me via text I needed to be alone because I knew I’d have a full-on meltdown (I was dramatic like that).

I hesitated at the top of the stairs, wondering if I should send Hann an ‘emergency SOS’ text so he’d bring me some biscuits, but then decided against it. I went into my room, closed the door and paced around in small circles before finally making myself look at my phone.

George’s name just sat there on my screen. The audacity of it.

“Oh fucking hell,” I breathed and closed my eyes as I hit the select button. I took a few breaths and then opened my eyes so I could read the message.

> **G:** Is it weird that I don’t think it was weird?

It took my brain a second to translate the meaning behind the words and when it landed fully on me, I started shaking so badly I forgot how to spell as I frantically typed a response:

> **Matty:** No. No. The fact that you don’t think it was weird is a goob thing.  
>  **Matty:** Fuck’s sake. GOOD thing. It’s a good thing. Not a goob thing. Ignore that.

George started typing back immediately. I felt like I was going to be sick. I had to sit down on my bed because I didn’t trust my legs to continue holding me up – they felt like jelly.

> **G:** What would have happened if Adam hadn’t interrupted us?

I blinked. My stomach flipped. Was this turning into one of _those_ conversations?

> **Matty:** I would have kissed you.

Three dots on my screen and then:

> **G:** Thought so.

I frowned. Thought so? _What the fuck did that even mean?_

> **Matty:** And?

George started typing a response and then he stopped. My heart was thrumming against my ribcage so violently I could hear it in my ears. He started typing again. Then he stopped again.

No reply.

I threw my phone on the bed and got back up on my feet and started pacing as much as my tiny room would allow. I was starting to hyperventilate. My anxious brain was now on overdrive thinking up mad scenarios: George wasn’t cool with the fact that I had tried to kiss him and now he was going to move out because I had totally misjudged the situation. He was also probably going to tell everyone I was a simp. He was going to leave. He was never going to talk to me again.

My anxiety rampage was broken by my phone which suddenly vibrated again.

I dove towards my bed and snatched it up in my hands.

> **G:** I feel guilty. I have a girlfriend.  
>  **G:** Sorry I left you in the garden. My sister called and I was a bit overwhelmed with everything.

My heart twisted in a really horrible way. So there it was. It had been a mistake. I had cocked it up. _Fuck._

I was getting ready to have a pity cry when another message came through:

> **G:** I wasn’t going to stop you though. Which is the confusing part.

Oh.

My.

God.

I typed another risky text:

> **Matty:** Would you stop me if I tried it again?

The last fifteen minutes of my life had been a fucking emotional rollercoaster. I felt shaky and unreal.

> **G:** Are you busy tomorrow night?  
>  **Matty:** No, why?  
>  **G:** I’m DJing at Sin. Come see me play.  
>  **G:** I guess we’ll find out.

He sent me an address although I already knew the club he was talking about. I had frequented there a lot when I was younger.

My body was buzzing, a mix of frenetic energy, alcohol and sexual frustration all pent up inside me.

“I have experienced too many fucking feelings tonight Pete,” I sighed, reading George’s messages again.

Whatever happened tomorrow night, I would make George mine. I _had_ to.

*****


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Did someone say DOUBLE UPDATE? These two chapters are brought to you by a ridiculously slow work from home day and the fact that I was honestly dying to see what would happen next. I mean, I always have a vague idea of where a chapter will go, but I never know for sure. Chapter 12 is absolute filth and is not just NSFW it's also NSForLife. Consider yourselves warned! Thank you all so much for your epic comments - I really appreciate them. They keep me inspired and you are the absolute best readers in the world. Okay... it's _finally_ happening. Phew! Enjoy!

**Chapter 11**

I glanced at my phone: 11pm. _Fuck._ George had already been playing for half an hour. Why was there always works happening on the tube when you needed to get somewhere important? 

I rounded the corner towards the nightclub and let out a groan when I saw the queue to get in. It was huge. For fuck’s sake. It felt like everything was against me tonight.

To kick things off I had barely slept a wink after my exchange with George via text. Then I couldn’t find anything to wear. I had tried on (no joke) a thousand different things and nothing seemed to work. In a bid of desperation, I had wrangled Hann and Ross (who were both hungover) into my coffin room (a fucking feat of engineering given how small the room was) and made them watch a montage of me trying on different things and listened to their opinions. In retrospect, this had been a terrible idea given that neither of them was remotely interested in having sex with George.

Eventually I had just given up completely and went with something that was familiar and comfortable: all black. Black jeans, black boots, a loose black vest top, a leather jacket, silver chains around my neck. A smudge of black eyeliner to give me that sexy ‘just fucked’ look and my hair styled in way that looked like I had just rolled out of bed but actually took fucking ages to do.

My phone vibrated as I joined the back of the queue in resignation.

> **Hann:** Good luck tonight. When you and George inevitably fuck later, please keep it down. I have work in the morning 👍🏻

I rolled my eyes and typed a response:

> **Matty:** Believe me, if I do get to fuck George tonight I am going to make sure the entire fucking road hears me. Creating an obscene racket will be my victory lap – don’t take that away from me Hann 🎉🎉🎉  
>  **Ross:** Lol I have never been so grateful that I’m a heavy sleeper 😂  
>  **Hann:** FFS 🤬  
>  **Matty:** Hann, in the year of our Lord 2021, if you think I’m being quiet when I finally have my cock in George’s beautiful mouth you are very sadly mistaken 😜  
>  **Ross:** Never thought I’d say this but yeah Hann, let him have this. He’s been talking about it for fucking years 🙄

Thankfully the queue in to Sin was moving faster than expected. I took out a cigarette and had a smoke to try and calm my nerves as I gradually got closer to the door. I actually felt anxious. Like, properly anxious. Why? I didn’t know. What I did know was that I wasn’t sure what was going to happen when I finally saw George. Would we be cool? Would things be awkward?

Being nervous when it came to matters of the cock (and heart, I suppose) was a new sensation for me. Normally I was good at this. _Too_ good. I was excellent at flirting, at being a tease, at the art of seduction. Being a provocateur had always come naturally to me, but with George it was different. I wanted him to like me and that was also a new sensation. Normally I didn’t really care. But this time it was different and I was both enthralled by the fact that George had this power over me but I also hated it. Conflicting feelings.

I finished my cigarette and pondered the weird dynamic between George and myself until eventually I reached the door of the club and slipped inside.

It was dark, crowded and I was immediately hit by a wall of sound. Slightly disorientated, it took me a few minutes to adjust to my new habitat before I realised something – I had heard the music that was playing before. George had let me listen to this track in his room one night. It was good. Vibey.

I made my way to the bar, grabbed a drink and then parked up at the edge of the dance floor where people seemed to be congregating. Were all of these people here just for his set? If so, he had drastically downplayed just how good he was.

I scanned the crowd. It didn’t take long for me to spot him a few seconds later in the DJ booth. My breath caught in the back of my throat as I saw him. He was leaning down close to the mixer, hair falling in his face, headphones slung over one ear, head bobbing, a look of pure bliss on his face as he worked.

Fuck me, he was beautiful. I _had_ to have him. There was no other option for me. I had honestly never wanted anyone as much in my entire life. If George and I didn’t happen tonight, I was actually going to die from pent-up sexual frustration. That was a fact. I had to be so fucking irresistible tonight. I just **HAD** to fuck George. There was no other option for me.

No. Other. Option.

I took a deep breath, downed my drink in one, and then walked into the centre of the dance floor like I fucking owned the place. I was giving off serious Big Dick Energy because the crowd parted and made way for me. Everyone watched me. Not going to lie, I felt a bit drunk on my power.

I started moving my body and fixed my eyes firmly on George’s face, sending him a silent message to notice me. I didn’t believe in auras or any of that psychic shit, but as I danced, deliberately moving my body in the most sexually suggestive way I could muster, I willed whatever energy I had to compel George.

_Look up. Look up. Notice me. Look up._

And then, weirdly, George looked up.

His eyes scanned the crowd dancing below him and finally landed on me as I moved. He looked a little stunned, like he was surprised I actually showed up and then he smiled shyly. Adorable. Ugh, my heart.

I smirked as he gestured at me to come up to the booth and slowly shook my head. He gave me a puzzled look.

I raised my hands up into the air, hips swaying, closed my eyes and tilted my head back allowing the music to move me for a few seconds before I looked back at him and he got it without me having to speak the words: _I want to dance._

And dance I did. To be fair, the tunes that George was playing were amazing and I wasn’t sure if this was his usual set or if he was trying to impress me, but either way, one thing was obvious: as well as being fucking gorgeous, George was also talented AF.

Every so often, I’d feel his eyes on me and I lapped up the attention, moving as seductively as I could without getting arrested.

At one point, a woman approached me and I took great joy in grinding against her and vibing. Then a man pushed her out of the way and started dancing against my crotch. I could feel George watching me and I loved it. Every time I looked up at the booth, his eyes met mine in the most delicious way.

As his set came to an end, I was truly desperate to get him alone. The dancing had felt like foreplay. I just wanted to touch him, taste him… I felt half-crazed.

“Keep it together, fuck,” I muttered to myself and then added a ‘down boy’ for the benefit of my half-hard cock as my eyes followed George. He had left the booth and was walking over to the bar. I gave him a few minutes, quickly checked my hair using my front-facing camera, and then followed.

“That was amazing,” I said, squeezing in beside him at the bar, purposely putting my body between him and a random bird that was trying to start a conversation with him.

“Did you like it?” George asked, his low voice doing _things_ to me. I mentally commanded my dick to behave again.

He said ‘Thanks’ to the bartender as she handed him a bottle of water.

“I loved it. You’re good G. Better than good. I was dancing like crazy and I’m not even off my tits,” I said, making George cackle in that weird way of his.

He was about to take a swig of his water when the bartender placed another drink in front of him – a whiskey.

“I didn’t order that,” said George, confused, and she laughed.

“No mate, you have a fan. It’s from her,” she pointed towards a blonde sitting at the end of the bar who smiled and waved at George.

I bristled on the inside.

“Thank you,” George mouthed the words at her but didn’t go to pick up the drink.

“You’re being very well behaved tonight. No sinning in Sin?” I purposefully made eye contact with him as I said the words ‘sinning’ and ‘Sin’ hoping that they would sink into his subconscious and help me with my efforts to seduce him.

“I don’t want her to get the wrong impression,” he said, and I noticed he was blushing slightly, clearly a bit embarrassed at the attention.

“This will fix it,” I said, and George gave me a look as I grabbed the drink, turned around and mouthed ‘Cheers love’ at her and downed the whiskey, much to her disgust.

She rolled her eyes at me and George started laughing as I grimaced at the taste. I _hated_ whiskey.

“Looks like you’ve made an enemy mate,” said George and then, “Oh fuck, she’s coming over!”

The blonde pushed me out of the way with a surprising strength and shoved a beer mat into George’s face.

“My phone number is on that. Call me sometime. Sorry that your friend is such a rude _wanker_ ,” she emphasised the word ‘wanker’ and then pushed past me again, causing me to bump into the person beside me.

“Fucking hell, does that happen a lot?” I frowned.

George looked desperately uncomfortable.

“Sometimes,” he said quietly.

“It’s not me though. It’s the whole DJ thing. Women are really into it for some reason,” he shrugged.

“I hate to break it to you Georgie, but I imagine it’s less the DJ thing and more the fact that you are ridiculously good looking,” I said, grinning when George’s face started to flush.

“You think I’m good looking?” He mumbled, all awkward. I noticed he was hunching over slightly – trying to make himself seem smaller. I was quickly realising that this was a nervous tic of his.

“No shit. If I recall correctly, not only did I try to kiss you last night, I also climbed into your bed half-naked for our first meeting love,” I winked at him and he smiled.

More intense eye contact ensued. I wanted to kiss him, but I knew that now wasn’t the right time. I needed to build up the vibe first so he wanted it as badly as I did. The last thing I wanted to do was act too soon and spook him again.

I watched him as he sucked his lower lip into his mouth and bit it.

 _Jesus Christ._ He wasn’t making it easy for me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I was captivated by George. I found myself stepping closer to him, like I was magnetised to him and unable to physically stop myself.

And then my phone broke the spell – it started buzzing rapidly. So rapidly I couldn’t ignore it.

“Sorry, my phone is going crazy,” I muttered and dug it out of my pocket as George looked away and the spell was broken. For now anyway.

> **Hann:** Status update? What’s going on? 😬  
>  **Ross:** Have you sealed the deal yet?  
>  **Matty:** Fuck’s sake. No. I’m a gentleman. I like to take my time. Fuck off🖕🏻  
>  **Hann:** You? A gentleman? That’s not the word I would use 🧐  
>  **Ross:** You’ve bottled it. Bet you’re crying in a toilet.  
>  **Matty:** Fuck off Ross, you fucking orchid.  
>  **Ross:** Bottled. It. 😂  
>  **Hann:** Matty are you crying in a toilet? Need us to come get you? 🥺😣

“Everything alright?” George asked.

I looked up at him, jumping slightly when I realised he had moved closer to me.

“Yeah fine. Here, get into a picture with me,” I didn’t give George a chance to move. Instead I just grabbed him and pressed my cheek against his, making the filthiest expression I could muster and took a selfie.

I released George who stumbled slightly and quickly sent the image to the boys along with a message:

> **Matty:** Does THIS look like someone who’s bottling it? 🥵

I didn’t wait for a response. I just turned my phone off. Idiots.

“What was that about?” George gave me a funny look.

“Oh nothing. Just sending my mother proof that I’m still alive,” I lied, because saying, ‘My mates think I’ve fucked up my chance to shag you which would be sad because I’ve literally spent months engineering the events of tonight’ just didn’t really seem appropriate.

“Eh, at this hour?” George raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, so?” I said dismissively, hoping George would just drop it and go back to eye-fucking me in the crowded club.

“And I needed to be in the picture why?” George had an amused expression on his face.

“Because your friendly, non-threatening face will reassure her that I’m alright,” I said.

“As opposed to?”

“As opposed to the hookers that I’m usually pictured with,” I said, and George laughed.

“How does she know I’m _not_ a hooker?” He smirked.

“Touché,” I smirked right back at him.

A weighted silence fell between us. There had been an elephant in the room ever since our little chat via text last night and not only was that elephant glaringly obvious, it was also really fucking horny.

The bar area was filling up with more and more people by the second – the almost-closing rush – and the next DJ had come on. It was getting hard to hear each other over the slamming bass. George nudged my shoulder and made the universal gesture for ‘Do you want a smoke?’ and I nodded.

I followed him as he led me outside into the virtually deserted staff carpark at the back of the club. As I closed the fire exit door behind me, the slamming music faded away into a soft, dull ‘thud’ noise.

The cold air made me shiver as I walked with George in the direction of a car. It was a shitty Fiat from the early noughties that looked like it had seen better days. There was a bumper sticker on the back that said: LEGALISE in bold, black letters. All caps.

“Holy shit, you have _a car_?” I said as I put two and two together. George nodded at me as he leaned against the boot and took a crumpled packet of fags out of his front pocket.

“ _How_ did I not know this?” I said, walking around the car and taking it in. George was so fucking mysterious.

“It’s my mum’s old car and it’s a pile of shit, truly, but it has amazing speakers,” he spoke around the cigarette in his mouth as he lit it.

“This changes everything!” I said, coming back to stand in front of him and George shook his head.

“Fucking hell mate, if I had of known you were this easily impressed I would have taken you out for a spin about town,” he said and I laughed at that.

“Easily impressed? This is mint. Look at me George,” – I pointed at my face – “I’ve done battle with public transportation in this city for twelve fucking years now. I’ve seen things. _Awful_ things. I once saw someone take a shit on the platform at Cockfosters. This haggard face is the face of someone who would be fucking _overjoyed_ taking a spin about town in a fucking smart car, let alone this stunning chariot.”

George chuckled as he blew out a cloud of smoke.

“Actually, scratch that, a smart car _would_ actually impress me because they’re environmentally responsible,” I said.

George regarded me silently for a few minutes and I could tell by his face that he was thinking about something other than the fuel efficiency of smart cars.

“What?” I said, although my northern roots chose that fine moment to come out and it ended up sounding more like “Wot?”

George smiled.

“Nothing, nothing. I… I’m just really glad you came tonight,” he said, voice getting quieter.

He offered me his cigarette and I took it, purposely brushing my fingers against his. Shivers when I touched him. My stomach clenched.

“So here we are,” I said then and I could feel the atmosphere around us starting to build up in that way it tends to do when attraction is in the air. We were vibing.

“Here we are,” he echoed my words.

I took a drag of the cigarette. George was looking at his feet now, his cheeks all flushed despite the fact that it was freezing outside.

I took a step towards him, then another until I was standing right in front of him. I held out the cigarette towards him.

Time seemed to slow all the way down as he looked up at me, hair falling over his eyes. He bit his lower lip again as I brought my hand just in front of his face, offering him the cigarette. He locked eyes with me as he took a drag from it as I held it. His cheeks hollowed as he inhaled and my mind went to a very, _very_ dirty place.

George sat back against the car, exhaling smoke and I brought the cigarette to my own mouth and finished it. I dropped the butt on the ground and stood on it.

And then my hand found its way to the front pocket of George’s jeans. I tugged at the material and George let out a shaky breath.

“Matty I-I – ” he started to stammer but I cut him off before he could finish his sentence:

“You have a girlfriend. I know. But why did you ask me to come tonight George?” I moved my body closer to his. There was a literal inch of air separating us now. The sexual tension in the atmosphere was positively _delicious._ I was starting to get high off it.

George was breathing heavily.

“Because,” he swallowed, “I-I wasn’t going to stop you last night and I don’t know what that means.”

I smirked. My eyes were fixated on his gorgeous mouth now. I wanted to kiss him so fucking badly. But it still wasn’t the right time.

“I just don’t know what it means,” he said again, his voice falling away to a whisper as I looked back up at him and caught his eye.

“It means that some part of you is curious about this,” I glanced down at our bodies, so close together.

I moved closer to him. Mere centimetres of space between us now.

“Are you curious Georgie?” I dropped my voice two octaves so it came out low, seductive, husky.

George nodded ever so slightly, like he was both intrigued by me but also fucking terrified of what I might do to him. Clever boy.

“You said you didn’t want to stop me last night,” I continued in my low tone. The way he was reacting to me was making me more cocky. It felt exciting and a bit dangerous. I _loved_ it.

“Are you going to stop me now?” I whispered and because I couldn’t fucking take the intoxicating tension between us any longer, I leaned forward and pressed my hips into his. I was hard as a rock and George took a sharp inhale through his nose as our bodies finally met. His eyes closed and his head tilted back slightly – he was lost in the feeling.

My self-control was hanging on by a thread, but I had to stick to my plan. I couldn’t take things further just yet. Not here. I needed him to be somewhere familiar and safe, so he wouldn’t try to bolt on me. I also needed him so horny the thought of not touching me seemed like madness.

“You want to get out of here?” I practically purred the words against his parted lips and, to my absolute delight, he tried to close the distance between us and kiss me.

I placed my finger against his lips, stopping him.

“Ssh love. Not here. Let’s go home,” I said, and George nodded dumbly.

I had him right where I wanted him. I could hardly believe my fucking luck.

George didn’t say anything to me in the car on the way home, but every few minutes he kept glancing at me as I sat in the passenger seat, my window half rolled down so I could smoke. I looked really fucking cool. I knew I did. And I loved how his eyes were lingering on me more and more with each glance he took.

I had turned my phone back on out of curiosity just to see how my sexy selfie had gone down with the boys. I opened WhatsApp, frowning when the selfie came into view (along with messages from Hann and Ross).

I looked magnificent, obviously. George? George looked like a deer caught in headlights.

I read the messages and suppressed a laugh.

> **Ross:** Why does G look like he’s just seen a ghost? 😂  
>  **Hann:** Ah yes, blatant fear – the ultimate aphrodisiac.

George did look fucking terrified, bless him. I made a mental note to hire a professional photographer for our engagement pictures. Maybe we could do an entire photoshoot. Fuck, maybe I’d even be able to convince him to do some boudoir shots for my eyes only. They’d come in handy when I was on the road touring and being a successful rock star.

I took an inhale of my cigarette and blew the smoke out the window, enjoying my little daydream as the city passed me by.

Thankfully it was late, so it didn’t take us too long to get home. As George parked up outside 36C I frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, an edge of worry to his voice.

He was anxious. How cute.

“Nothing but… do you always park right here? In front of the house like?” I asked and George nodded.

“Fucking hell. How have I never noticed this car before?”

“It’s not very noticeable,” he said, our eyes meeting as he spoke. I suddenly got the feeling that he wasn’t speaking about the car.

He looked uncomfortable and completely out of his depth. And then, something occurred to me:

“Can I ask you a really blunt question?” I asked.

“It must be blunt if you’re asking permission first. Normally you just blurt stuff out,” he smiled nervously.

“True, but… have you ever done anything like this before?” I gestured from myself to him.

His eyes widened and I could practically _feel_ his anxiety washing over me.

I rolled my eyes.

“Relax love, I’m not going to try and bum you in your car. I just mean are you into men?” I asked and George visibly relaxed.

“Honestly I… I don’t know. I don’t…” he swallowed and started poking at the hand break, his eyes cast low.

“I don’t have much experience in either department. Men or women really… but I do like you Matty. I’ve liked you ever since you ended up in my bed that night and I do get…” he trailed off. His voice was so quiet I had to lean forward in my seat to hear him.

“Yes?” I coaxed him, my own voice soft now.

“I get… um… hard when I think about you,” he was blushing fiercely now.

I swallowed and tried to compose myself. Hearing George saying the word ‘hard’ had conjured up obscene images in my head. Good lord.

“Well that’s a relief. I like you too,” I said, mainly because ‘I have been dying to fuck you for months’ seemed a bit excessive.

“George?” I said, my voice louder now.

He looked up at me and I gave him what I can only describe as _the look_ – you know the one that you only give to people you want to shag. A look that is all sex.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” I said and George nodded.

I opened the car door and he followed suit.

******


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Pure. Utter. Filth.
> 
> (I always get so mortified when I post this kind of stuff haha I also don't think I'll ever look at G again WITHOUT thinking about this. Sorry G hun!) But I'm so excitedddd to share the rest of this fic with you. I settled on an ending and yeah. I am so inspired I'm going to be throwing these chapters out haha Enjoy!

**Chapter 12**

We walked to his bedroom in silence and I had a full-circle moment as he closed the door behind us. I took off my jacket and slung it over his desk chair.

I had fucked so many people in this bedroom when it had been mine. Like _so many_. And now here I was, the one who had been invited into this bedroom with the very blatant subtext of having sex. I had gone from fucker to fuckee (hopefully). I smiled to myself at the thought.

“You alright?” George whispered, causing me to look up at him.

He started smiling back at me, which made me smile more. He was _divine_. My confidence buoyed by the events of the past hour, I took a step closer to him and got all up in his business. He had a nervous, frenetic energy radiating off him.

“Relax G, I’ll take care of you tonight. I promise,” I murmured.

I reached for his hand and as soon as I took it, that one small gesture initiated a natural domino effect. We moved closer together, bodies connecting. His head tilted to one side, mine in the opposite direction and I finally, finally, _finally_ went in for the kiss.

Our lips connected like it was the most natural thing in the world. As easy as breathing.

And the kiss…

The kiss was… interesting?

You could tell that George was terrified. The kiss was careful. Exact. The kind of kiss you give to someone as a greeting. It lacked a certain… passion.

I pulled back suddenly and looked at George who was eyeing me frantically. There was panic all over his face.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, and I shook my head.

“No, no… just,” I swallowed and thought about the best way to phrase it so I didn’t offend him. “This is a safe space Georgie. No one will ever know about what happens between us. Relax. Loosen up. Let yourself go.”

George nodded. He took a deep breath. Let his shoulders drop. Let out a nervous laugh. Mumbled something that sounded like ‘man up’ under his breath. He looked at me and then, catching me completely off guard, quite literally lobbed his gob at me. He kissed me so forcefully I almost fell backwards. He had taken my advice. He had let down his defences, his shyness, this kiss was _all_ George and it was _awesome_.

He brought his hand up to the back of my head, deepening the kiss and I slipped my tongue into his mouth. He groaned slightly as I did so, which ran through my own body in a delicious hum. Now we were getting somewhere.

George pressed up against me and kissed me harder, like he was starved for human contact. I could feel his half-hard cock rising against my thigh. My body was sparking up. I felt like I was proper drunk.

My hands came to life and had a mind of their own, clutching at his back and then dropping to his ass, pressing him against me as tightly as possible. I wanted him, my body wanted him, and I wanted him to know it.

A natural break in the kiss forced us up for oxygen.

“Was that better?” He asked, slightly breathless, his forehead against mine, eyes closed.

“You know,” I swallowed, licked my lower lip, tried to force my jumbled thoughts into something coherent, “I think you can do even better.”

He opened his eyes at that and then flashed me a wicked grin which was so un-George-like and such a fucking turn on.

He crashed into me again, forcefully, both of us literally pawing at each other, filled with a potent mix of horniness and excitement. My fingers itched to start pulling his clothes off, to finally see him naked, but I was afraid to push things too far too fast. George was technically cheating on his beloved “girlfriend”, the last thing I wanted to do was go too far too fast and accidentally have him getting freaked out and running back to her.

But then something surprising happened – George’s hands found their way beneath my top. I shuddered involuntarily as the heat of them sighed along my lower back. My brain was chanting a chorus of: _Please let him be a secret freak, please let him be kinky, please let him be a nymphomaniac_ as he ran his hands up my sides, still kissing me.

I needed more.

Before I realised what I was doing, I had sucked his lower lip into my mouth, tugging on it sharply with my teeth. It felt like fucking Christmas when George responded to this with a proper moan. I released his lip and grinned against his mouth. _Game. Fucking. On._

“You like that?” I purred and George answered with a deep, deliciously masculine, low “Yes.”

“I have a wide repertoire of other things that I think you’ll like G,” I teased, moving closer so I could whisper into his ear.

“Like what?” he murmured, his breath hot against my cheek.

His lips found my neck and he started kissing me there. My eyes rolled back into my head – I fucking _loved_ having my neck kissed. I made a noise deep in the back of my throat and that encouraged George, who started to suck the sensitive skin, sending shivers through my entire body and then he grazed his teeth against me. I was done for. I got lost in the sensation, pleasure picking up in every single cell of my body now. My cock was throbbing and my jeans were way too fucking tight.

“Matthew?” George mumbled my name against my skin and I had to shake my head slightly to stay involved in the conversation.

“You were saying?” I could feel George’s lips smiling as his mouth continued to kiss and nip and suck at my neck.

He was teasing me. George was _teasing_ me.

I pulled away from him and pressed my hand against his chest, pushing him towards the bed. He sat down as the back of his knees hit the mattress.

“I think that you’ve been telling lies Georgie,” I said bending down and placing a hand on both of his knees.

He blinked up at me.

“You gave me the impression that you were good and innocent,” I pushed his knees apart and stepped between them so George’s eyes were level with my waist.

“But I’m getting the vibe that might not be the case,” I said, loving the way his eyes watched me as I pulled my top up and off over my head.

His eyes landed on the tattoo on my left hip that was peeking out over the waistband of my jeans. He reached out and ran his fingers over it, tracing the outline and then his eyes caught sight of something else – my cock was so hard I was quite literally pitching a tent in my pants.

George’s eyes slowly made their way from my cock to my own. His eyes were slightly wide, although whether it was from shock at being faced with an erection or arousal I couldn’t tell.

I took great pleasure in stepping back and closing his legs together, his eyes not leaving me for a second, and then standing back in front of him – my own legs on the outside of his now – and then, using George’s upper body for leverage, I knelt on the bed, my knees on either side of his seated frame. I was essentially trapping him so he couldn’t run away, although from the look on George’s face, that wasn’t something I needed to worry about.

I lowered myself so I was almost sitting in his lap, but not quite, and kissed him again – deeper, as hot as possible, filling his mouth with my tongue, loving how his hands clawed at the back of my thighs, supporting me while I tasted him. He tasted like spliff and happiness. I was high. So high. It was getting harder and harder to control myself.

I broke the kiss and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head and then I allowed myself to sink down onto his lap properly, both of us groaning in unison as his cock made contact with my own.

I rolled my hips forward, pressing his cock against my own and George closed his eyes and let out a low _“Fuuuuckkk.”_

“Does that feel good?” I whispered, rocking my hips back and forth, creating the most tantalising and positively fucking _delicious_ friction I could.

“Mmhmm,” George hummed.

His face was magnificent. His brows were knitted together, lower lip between his teeth, his eyes closed as I continued to dry hump him. I grinned as I felt his fingers digging into my hips harder now. I let him control the movement. He forced me against him, drawing a sharp inhale from me as pleasure ran through me. It was a small gesture from George, probably involuntary judging from the look on his face, but the sheer dominance of it turned me a little wild. There was a damp spot rapidly growing in my boxers as my cock started to leak. I needed to be naked and I needed George’s dick in my mouth. It was a visceral need. The animal side of me took over. I _had_ to have him. No. Other. Option.

I shoved George back onto the mattress and he tugged me down with him. I ground against him as I kissed him deeply, a moan escaping my own lips as he pushed his hips up to meet mine and I got a proper feel of his cock. He felt big. Hefty. I’m not religious, but I did say a silent ‘Excellent work mate,’ to God as I rubbed against him. I wanted more. I needed more.

It took all my willpower to untangle myself from George and roll off him. He gave me a questioning look as I propped myself up on one arm and hovered my other hand over his crotch.

“Is this okay?” I asked because consent is sexy. George swallowed.

“Y-yes,” he said, sounding more nervous now.

I took my time undoing the button on his jeans and then slowly unzipped them. I could feel every fucking _inch_ of him straining against the zipper as I moved it down. My mouth started to water in anticipation.

“Matty? What are you doing?” he asked warily as I got up off the bed and pulled his shoes and socks off.

“I’m going to take your clothes off and then Georgie, I’m going to suck your cock until you either cum down my throat or you fuck me into next week,” I said, momentarily forgetting that I was supposed to be easing George into this.

“And fair warning, I’m going to deep throat you until I lose the ability to breathe. I honestly want to choke on your cock.”

“Matty, I – ” George started, but stopped when I pulled his boxers and jeans down in one swift motion and he saw the look on my face.

His cock. _Oh my god._

I knew I was gaping, but I couldn’t stop myself. He was _fucking huge_. So huge that his cock was leaning over slightly under its own heft. And he was wide. RIP my oesophagus (and my ass, but we’ll get to that).

“Jesus, fuck,” I breathed. Now I was on the one with wide eyes.

“Matty?” George said my name again, his voice was shaky.

I tore my eyes away from his cock and looked at him. Bless him. He actually looked scared.

I quickly tugged off my own shoes, socks and jeans and climbed back onto the bed so I could kiss him properly.

“Trust me, okay?” I said quietly and he nodded.

“If I do anything that you’re not into or you don’t like, just say it okay? Good sex is an artistic collaboration,” I said, loving the way he gasped as I lowered my hand between us, wrapped it around his fucking incredible cock, and started to tug him slightly.

He groaned as I tightened my grip and then released him so I could run my hand over him, marvelling at his size, the velvety smoothness of his skin, the glisten of pre cum that was already shimmering on the top of his cock. The almost-purple hue on his head, letting me know that his cock was aching to be touched, just as much as my own. The fact that he wanted me so much only turned me on even more.

I kept running my hand over him until I was sure he was comfortable with my touch and then, when George was relaxed, eyes closed, purring out happy noises, I moved down and took him into my mouth.

Both of us moaned loudly as he filled my mouth up. He was so big, so fucking _thick_ that it was almost hard to breathe around him and I loved, no adored, the way he stretched my mouth. It was _so fucking hot_.

I worked him with my tongue as best I could, slicking him up with my saliva and when he was suitably wet, I replaced my mouth with my hand so I could mentally prepare myself and watch him properly as he responded to my touch.

George’s face was flushed and he was watching me. Our eyes locked and he bit his lower lip as I said:

“You taste so fucking good G,” and then, because I love attention, I ran my tongue over the head of his cock, making sure he saw me tonguing up some of his precum into my mouth.

George moaned as I swiped my tongue over his tip again and then he pushed his hips up, trying to get my lips to make contact with him.

I smirked at that. Someone was eager. Best to oblige.

I took him back into my mouth, exhaling deeply through my nose and relaxing my throat so I could take as much of him into my mouth as possible. I grunted at the divine feeling of him hitting the back of my throat. Somewhere above me, he said my name – _Matty_ – a whisper. I pulled back and then bobbed down onto his cock, letting him hit the back of my throat again. He said my name louder this time – the syllables rounded out with pleasure. It made me feel slutty, but in the best way possible.

I bobbed my head up and down, essentially making Georgie fuck my throat and I loved every minute of it. George was making the most beautiful noises and I was starting to wonder at his insane self-restraint – normally by this stage a man was pretty much ripping my hair out trying to leverage my movements. But then I felt his hand on the back of my head – timid at first, just gently cradling my head as I moved, but then he hit the back of my throat again and I must have caught him by surprise because he gripped onto my hair, pulling it slightly. _Oh yes._

I let out a very horny sound and George got the message. He tugged my hair harder as I moved and it made me light up inside like a fucking Christmas tree. I wanted to tell him: _Fuck my mouth. Make me so hoarse I can’t fucking talk tomorrow_ , but instead I settled for moaning around his cock each time he bucked up against my mouth, my tongue lapping against the underside of his shaft as best I could.

I was vaguely aware that I was drooling everywhere, but it felt too good to stop. George tugged my hair harder, both of his large hands on my head now, making me inhale sharply at the sensation of pain mixed with pleasure that I adored so much. My eyes were closed now, savouring the feelings and I wasn’t paying full attention to what I was doing. George bucked his hips forward with a little more force than I was expecting this time. He hit the back of my throat so hard I proper gagged on his cock.

“Oh fuck!” George yelped as my throat contracted around him and I came up for air, coughing slightly.

“Jesus Matty,” his chest was heaving, he was panting and then our eyes locked again. George was looking at me like I was the most divine creature that he had ever seen.

And then I realised – there was a thick thread of spit and cum running from his dick directly to my mouth. Porno style. I made a show of licking his tip slowly, taking all of the precum available into my mouth and moaning as I did so. I had seen enough porn in my lifetime to know that this was a good look. George watched me, his face so flushed he looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

“Are you ready for more?” I asked and George nodded. There was zero nervousness about him now. Fuck. Yes.

Thankfully because I’m me, I came prepared. George didn’t take his eyes off me for a second as I got up, grabbed my jeans off the floor and found my wallet. I took out a small sachet of lube (Pro tip – always carry lube in your wallet. You never know when you might need it.)

“Are we going to…?” George trailed off. I looked up at him and noticed his hand inching towards his cock.

I smirked.

“Say it George,” I said, and he blushed.

“Come on, say the word,” I teased.

“Fuck,” he cleared his throat self-consciously. “Are we going to fuck?” the end of the sentence came out slightly strained as he wrapped his hand around his cock and squeezed.

I suddenly found it hard to form words, so I just shook my head as I watched him. I became aware of the fact that I was still in my boxers (and that the front of them was completely ruined) so I pulled them off and discarded them on the floor.

George was watching me, his fist pumping his cock now. I followed his eyes as they landed on my dick and he bit his lower lip.

“You want a taste?” I said, half-joking, but to my surprise, George nodded and pushed himself up into a seated position.

I climbed back onto the bed, feeling like this wasn’t actually real life as he reached out and stroked my dick. It felt like all my dreams were coming true. And then, as if it couldn’t get any better, George bent down and started kissing my cock. I let out a shaky breath at the soft feel of his lips, brushing against the sensitive skin.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, and I suddenly realised George was following my cues from earlier.

“You have no idea how okay this is,” I said, my voice hitching at the end of the sentence when I felt the soft, hot, wetness of his mouth enveloping my cock.

You know that sensation of deep pleasure that you feel right in the pit of your stomach? I was unprepared for how strong it would bloom inside me when George touched my dick. I felt like I was glowing.

“You are surprisingly good at this,” I moaned as George’s big tongue lapped at my cock.

He moaned around me and I had to remind myself to keep fucking breathing as I felt the vibrations of his voice all the way down into my balls. And then George replaced his mouth with his hand and said something that I too had said earlier, but which took on a delicious new meaning when it was directed at me and said in George’s rich, deep voice:

“I like the way you taste.”

I was kneeling on the mattress, my eyes cast upwards, but I looked down at George then as he ran his hand over my cock, his gorgeous eyes trained fully on my face and then, shy, slightly-out-of-his-sexual-depth George gave me the filthiest look I had ever seen.

I cupped his cheek and drew him up to me so I could kiss him deeply. I could taste myself all over his mouth and that just made my blood run even hotter.

We were so engrossed in the kiss, in the feel of our naked skin pressed together (in the delightful friction of his cock rubbing against my own) that we both lost our balance and I yelled as I fell forward directly on top of George.

“Well now, this has worked to my advantage,” I said, kissing him again.

George sucked my lower lip between his teeth and tugged slightly, causing me to moan loudly. Another one of my moves that he mirrored back to me. He was a quick learner.

He released my lip and kissed me, his tongue slipping into my mouth this time, teasing me. My body was aching for him. I wanted to be filled. More specifically I wanted to be filled by George’s fucking monster of a cock.

But it was too soon for that just yet. Blow jobs were fine. Anal was totally different. And despite his enthusiasm, this was still new to George and again, I didn’t want to freak him out. What was the old saying? It’s all fun and games until you have a cock up your ass (or your cock _in_ an ass, in George’s case because I really, really, _really_ wanted him to top me as soon as possible).

“Matty,” George breathed as we pulled apart from the kiss.

“Yes love?” I asked.

George’s eyes were half-hooded as he pressed his cock against me. I smirked and touched him, squeezing him and drawing out a gorgeous _“Ah, fuck,”_ from his lips.

“What do you need?” I asked him, as he pushed his hips forwards into my touch.

“You,” he swallowed, “more of you.”

I kissed him again and then released him (much to George’s disappointment), but I had better things in store for him. Much better things.

I stood up and found the sachet of lube again and ripped it open with my teeth. George watched me as I slathered two fingers on my right hand with a generous amount. He looked both turned on and terrified as I climbed back onto the bed and made myself comfortable between his legs.

“I really need you to trust me for this next part. I promise I am going to make you feel so fucking good,” I said, pressing what I hoped was a reassuring kiss to his hip.

George nodded and groaned as I sucked his cock back into my mouth, deep throating him again over and over, loving the fact that I’d be hoarse tomorrow – a reminder of him and the events of tonight. And then, I slowly started to circle his ass with my lubed-up index finger.

George gasped at the sensation and the noise went straight to my own aching cock. I let his dick fall from my mouth.

“Alright love?” I asked.

George just moaned my name loudly which I took to be an affirmative.

“Fuck I love the way you say my name. The noises you make,” my voice was low and dark. I was so turned on I could barely see straight.

I wrapped my free hand back around George’s cock and started pumping. He moaned louder and I really fucking hoped Ross and Adam could hear this.

When a large amount of precum was leaking from the tip of George’s dick, I saw my moment and slowly slid my finger inside him.

I was expecting him to freak out, but he didn’t. He just groaned and thrust his hips up, pushing more of his cock into my hand. I took great pleasure in sucking his tip into my mouth and swallowing all that precum.

I wondered how George’s blue balls were faring and how much cum was likely to engulf me as I prepared to initiate the next part of my plan – prostate milking.

This was a technique I had learned during a brief but memorable affair with a doctor. I wanted George to know how fucking amazing I was and how awesome sex with me was. So much so that he would literally flee from Becca and after a few weeks hitting the sheets with me, would be all like, “Becca who? It’s _all_ about Matty’s cock now.”

I took a breath to steady myself and went down on him again, my eyes rolling into the back of my head with pleasure as he hit the back of my throat. George let out a wrangled cry. I purposefully bobbed my head up and down, taking him as deep as I could, and when I was sure that George was completely lost in bliss, I slowly slid another finger inside him.

He hissed and I froze.

“Are you okay?” I asked, half-hoarse as I let him slip from my mouth.

George’s face was all scrunched up.

“George? Talk to me – do you need me to stop?”

“N-n-no, fuck, _oh my god,_ ” he said, voice strained.

I couldn’t tell if George was in pain or pleasure.

“Matty, _fuck_ ,” he opened his eyes and I slowly flexed my fingers inside him. He shuddered.

It may have been painful but I had had enough fingers up my own ass to know that there was pleasure there too. Definitely.

I wrapped my free hand back around his cock and started pumping him as I slowly moved my fingers inside him and then, bingo, I found what I was looking for.

I pressed softly against his prostate and George moaned so loudly, I knew that there was no way our housemates weren’t going to hear that.

“The noises you make are driving me fucking crazy,” I murmured, an edge of excitement in my own voice. George had no idea what I was about to do to him.

I began massaging my fingers gently against his prostate and George groaned.

“Good?” I asked.

“Weird, but good. Really, _really_ fucking good,” George was panting.

“If you think that’s good, wait until I do this,” I grinned at him, gripping his dick tightly and then firmly pushed my fingers against his prostate.

My name, along with some surprisingly filthy profanities spilled from George’s beautiful lips in a sharp yelp followed by:

“Wha-what the fuck are you doing to me. Oh my god. _Matty_ …” he moaned his back arching off the mattress.

His face was flushed and the air in the room was starting to heave with sweat and sex.

“Mmm yes, I want to see you lose control,” I licked at George’s thigh as I repeated the motion and he moaned my name again.

The reward centre of my brain was firing off some truly amazing chemicals and I was greedy and had poor impulse control. I wanted more. I wanted more of George, more of his voice moaning my name, more, more, more. And I knew that no matter how much more I got of him, it probably still wouldn’t be enough.

“Louder,” I commanded, slightly surprised by how firm my voice was. I was getting off on the fact that I suddenly had so much control over George. Apparently I had a little dominatrix in me – file that under ‘interesting things to experiment with later.’

“Matty… M-Matty,” George moaned.

I tugged his cock again and pressed my fingers into him even harder than before.

“Matty!” George’s voice was getting louder by the second.

“You’re such a good boy,” I breathed against his sweat-soaked skin.

My own dick was _aching_ to be touched down and I ground myself against the mattress as I pressed into George again and again, giving him less and less time to compose himself.

He was writhing beneath me, lost in that kind of pleasure that feels so fucking good it’s almost painful, but you never want it to stop. His head was pushed back into the mattress now, his neck and back arching up into my touch, choked gasps of air and pleasure coming from him. His body was shaking – his hands balled into the sheets, trying to get some traction against the all-consuming pleasure that was running through him.

Prostate milking was intense. The first time I had experienced it I literally thought I had died.

George was losing it and screaming my name properly now. His voice was reverberating around the room and just when I was about to fucking lose it myself, George let out a howl and his cock exploded all over my hand and his lower stomach. I gripped him as tightly as possible, squeezing him with each wave of pleasure that wracked through his body as he twitched through his orgasm. I had never seen as much fucking cum in my entire life. _How_ had George been walking around like this? Did he not wank on the regular like the rest of us?

George collapse back against the mattress like his life force had been drained from him which, I suppose, it sort of had and I gently removed my fingers from him. I had my other hand wrapped around my own cock and I was lying on my back getting myself off before George was even aware of what was happening.

It took me, no lie, three pumps before my own orgasm ripped through me and I came all over myself, my head hanging off the edge of the bed.

The room fell silent bar our ragged breaths as we tried to compose ourselves.

“Are you alive?” I croaked eventually, unable to raise my head to make sure George was okay. I could feel something wet and sticky seeping into the sheets beneath one of my legs.

“That was so much fucking cum. Did I kill you?” I asked. George didn’t respond.

Just as I was getting worried and starting to think that I had irreversibly damaged him, I felt George shift lazily – his movements causing the mattress to shake. He groaned groggily.

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ,” he said and I closed my eyes and smiled. _Hallelujah._

“I’m an atheist, but I think you’re right – I just did the Lord’s work,” I said and George poked me with his foot.

  
“Shut up Matty,” he mumbled, already half asleep.

It didn’t take long for George’s breathing to even out and he fell asleep right where he was lying, quite literally in a pool of cum.

Asleep straight after sex? George was a cliché. But then again, so was I because my craving for a smoke was so intense it drove me out of bed as soon as I was able to use my legs again.

The lighting in the room was low and I squinted, struggling to make out what clothes were actually mine from the mess of garments on George’s bedroom floor. I found my top and used it to mop up the cum on my leg and hands, but where the fuck were my pants?

I got down on my hands and knees, cursing myself for not just giving in and bringing my glasses with me everywhere I went (I clearly needed them) and just in case this situation was to repeat itself on the regular, which I was sure it would after that fucking sterling performance I had just put in.

Something started vibrating in the mess of clothes and I let out a small “Yesss!” when I found a pair of black jeans. I dug my hands into the pockets and found a phone. I had already seen the screen before I realised the phone wasn’t mine – I had accidentally picked up George’s pants.

He had a passcode on it, but I could see the first few lines of the notification.

> **Becs** **❤** **️:** I hope you’re not with Matty tonight. I think it’s bullshit that you’re spending more time with him than with your girlfriend…

_Becca._

Ugh.

I prickled as I read over the start of the message. Who the fuck did this bitch think she was? I glanced over at George. He had his back to me and he was fast asleep. He was snoring slightly – totally out for the count.

I knew it was wrong but I _had_ to see what the fuck was going on with him and Becca. And truthfully, I was so bamboozled after what had just transpired that I wasn’t sure I was even in my right mind, in my own defence.

George had a four-number passcode on his phone. I looked around his room and then my eyes landed on a packet of skins. This was George we were talking about here – he was usually so fucking high he could barely remember what day it was.

I quickly typed in 7546 (SKIN). Access denied. Fuck. I frowned and tapped at my chin. Think Matty, think. And then I remembered the LEGALISE sticker on his car and typed in 9333 (WEED). His phone unlocked immediately. I grinned. Predictable much? So much for all that mystery George previously had – it was rapidly disappearing.

And also, what the fuck was I doing wasting my time playing piano in a hotel? I had literally just hacked the fucking Matrix. I should monetise this shit.

I settled myself on the floor, got comfortable and readied myself to go deep in the creep on George’s correspondences.

Aside from Becca, his other conversations were so wholesome: Mum, sisters, Nana ( _Poppet, how do I set up the books on the kindle? Love Nan x_ \- oh my god. Cute), work and (my heart) one of those £4 donation texts to Dog’s Trust. I got a bit emotional at that one. Even more so than his cute chat with his Nana. George may have been a cliched typical man after sex but if that was true than I was a woman literally riding the high of post-sex oxytocin.

I clicked in to the ‘Becs’ message thread, already knowing I’d hate her and, surprise, surprise, I fucking did hate her. I scanned her most recent texts which basically revolved around her whinging about G spending so much time with me and not being online constantly to talk to her.

> **Becs** **❤** **️:** You’re supposed to love me. I really needed to talk to you tonight and you’re not online? I hate the person you’ve become since you moved in there. They’re changing you and I don’t like it.

Oh _please_.

> **Becs** **❤** **️:** And I know you like him, but I really don’t think you should be wasting your time with Matty. He sounds like a loser – constantly getting stoned. Don’t let him drag you down George, you’re better than that.

I snorted at that one. This bitch had just made things personal now. I clicked into her contact information and made a mental note of her email address and then locked George’s phone and put it back in his jeans. I left his jeans back where I had found them.

After a few more minutes on the floor I had found my fags and my own phone. I blinked at the screen in the half-light of George’s bedroom – my own screen was filled with WhatsApp notifications. I grinned as I read them. They had started coming through around the same time things were getting very hot and heavy with G and I:

> **Hann:** Normally I would be pissed off to be woken up by moaning coming from downstairs at this hour, and I know this is a weird thing to say to your mate, but I know how much this means to you so congratulations. Enjoy your victory lap.

And about fifteen minutes later…

> **Hann:** Okay, happy you’re getting shagged mate but seriously, you can stop now 😐

Ten minutes after that…

> **Hann:** Jesus Christ. Would you please stop? It sounds like two foxes fucking in an alleyway. 💀

Another ten minutes…

> **Hann:** You are literally making more noise than two skeletons shagging in a biscuit tin. Would you shut up?! 🤬

And we had apparently even managed to wake up Ross:

> **Ross:** What the fuck are you two doing to each other? 😳  
>  **Hann:** 😱😱😱 Mate…  
>  **Ross:** Was that you or George who just screamed?☹️  
>  **Hann:** Make it stop 😭  
>  **Ross:** This is…  
>  **Ross:** Matty, mate. Pls 😶  
>  **Hann:** We need you to stop. Omg. Stop💀  
>  **Ross:** Will never look at G the same way again. Fucking hell.😳

And then a separate message from Ross outside of our group:

> **Ross:** Does what you’re doing to him right now work on women as well as men? Because if so, I’m going to need you to explain it to me 👍🏻

I decided to send a response to the group chat, just to gross them out more – because that’s what mates do.

> **Matty:** Afterglow 🚬😈

I smirked. But anyway, back to why I was here in the first place. I took out a smoke, lit it up, letting out a happy noise with a cloud of smoke as I exhaled and climbed back into bed with George. When I was comfy, I hopped on to Facebook where I typed in Becca’s email address. Her profile came up immediately and, surprise, surprise, had no photographs associated with it. This bitch. I swear Becca was an 80-year-old cat fish preying on my poor Georgie. The email matched though so it had to be her, and the location of the account was in America. Nevada to be exact.

Without thinking of the consequences and fuelled by far too many ‘must protect my man’ post-sex hormones, I sent her a friend request. I was just about to put my phone away and go cuddle up against George and his lovely naked body, when my phone pinged. She had accepted my friend request pretty much immediately.

A message came through straight away on Facebook Messenger:

> **Becca:** Why did you friend me? Where is George? He’s not answering any of my messages.

(I didn’t appreciate the tone.)

> **Matty:** I don’t know how you do things over there love, but in the UK we start our conversations with a ‘hello.’ It’s also 4:30am.  
>  **Matty:** George is asleep. That’s why he’s not answering your messages. I friended you because George may not be on to you but I am.  
>  **Becca:** What’s that supposed to mean?  
>  **Matty:** Oh come on. You’re a couple and he never sees you? What’s that about? You’ve been stringing him on for six years and it’s bullshit. You need to cut him loose. He deserves to be happy and for the record, I’m not the one dragging him down. I think you’ll find that’s you.

She started to type. Then stopped. Then started again.

After what felt like an age, she finally responded:

> **Becca:** Why do you care so much about what George does? You want him for yourself is that it? You’re a fucking loser Matty. Get over yourself.

My temper took over and I knew it was a bad idea as I was typing, but I couldn’t stop myself. I had a really rotten temper sometimes – especially when people were _pissing me the fuck off_ on the internet.

> **Matty:** Want him? Bitch please. The reason why he wasn’t answering your messages is because I already HAD him. Past tense. So please kindly do fuck off. Let him go. George deserves better than you and your stupid pseudo relationship. He deserves someone who is actually here, who can love him properly. An actual real life person. Unlike you. You’re virtually strangers.  
>  **Matty:** George is an amazing guy and quite frankly love, him being chained to you is a fucking waste of a good man and a waste of the most amazing cock I have ever seen.

I blocked her before she could respond with anymore bullshit and threw my phone on the ground, pissed off. George stirred in his sleep and rolled over, his arm draping across me.

“Matty, alright?” he murmured and I melted. I stubbed out my smoke and cuddled down beside him, loving how small I felt as he wrapped himself around me.

“It’s okay love, go back asleep,” I said.

George nuzzled into the nape of my neck and my stomach flipped in the best possible way. I almost didn’t mind the cum that was still everywhere and starting to smell a bit.

Almost.

******


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** This update has no business being as long as it is, I just didn't think to break it into two chapters (soz mates). Thank you as always for reading. I love each and every single one of you. Your comments make me so happy, so thankyouthankyouthankyou <3\. Enjoy!

**Chapter 13**

I had just woken up after what felt like the greatest night’s sleep of my entire life. I had been in such a coma that as I came to I felt groggy, like half my brain was still asleep. It took me a second to remember where I was and then the memories hit me: George. Prostate. Screaming.

 _Oh yes_.

I couldn’t stop the filthy grin that started to take over my face. I sighed happily as I treated myself to a mental replay of the previous night’s events with George: George and I in the carpark. George kissing me. George’s flushed face. Heaven. But before I could get too into it, I had the distinct impression that someone was watching me.

I stirred, rolling over onto my back and cracked open one eye – my filthy grin disappearing when I saw George, who was sitting up, his back pressed against the wall and a worried look on his face. Bollocks.

“Good morning love,” I mumbled and George’s eyes landed on me. He gave me a small smile.

Despite the fact that we were both lying in a bed that was well and truly disgusting after last night (neither of us had gotten up to clean up the mess of bodily fluids) George somehow radiated beauty. In fact, maybe it was _because_ the bed was so disgusting he looked even more ethereal in the soft morning light. The juxtaposition of revulsion and beauty.

My eyes swept over his masculine jaw, his toned arms – my gaze lingering on his tattoos (specifically the two ‘broken’ tattoos sitting just at his collar bones). I suddenly had the incredible urge to touch him. I had to physically restrain myself from getting up and latching onto him with my mouth, kissing him all over, leaving bitemarks and hickeys and whatever else I could on his body so everyone knew he was mine. It was possessive – a feeling I normally didn’t experience much with my sexual partners but for George I would make an exception.

“You sleep okay?” George’s voice brought my eyes back up to his face.

“Yeah, really well. I’m still half-zonked to be honest,” I said, pushing myself into a seated position so I could talk to him properly. I swallowed and posed the age-old morning-after question: “Are you alright?”

(Inwardly my mind was chanting: _Please don’t make it weird. Please don’t make it weird. Please don’t make it weird. Just tell me everything is cool between us and you don’t regret it._ )

“I’m just tired,” he responded, and I knew it was a lie.

I frowned. Was George freaking out over what happened last night? I thought he was into it though… Ugh, did I push him too much? Fuck. I didn’t know how to continue things now. If anything, last night had just given me an appetite for more. I wanted a repeat performance as soon as possible. The last thing I needed or wanted was for George to suddenly realise that he was, in fact, fully heterosexual. What a fucking shame that would be.

“Last night was…” I stopped, trying to search for the right word. A word that wouldn’t freak him out. A word that would convey just how much I liked him, but I couldn’t find one.

George sat there casually blinding me with his beauty. I got distracted by him. He was so fucking _captivating_. He was also still naked which was an added plus. The bedsheets barely covered his lower body. My eyes were fixated on the trail of hair running from his belly button to the top of the sheets where it disappeared. Intense flashback of his cock. I swallowed again.

“Intense?” George offered a word and I nodded, forcing myself to tear my eyes away from his body.

My brain chose that moment to helpfully replay a soundbite from last night in stereo inside my head: George’s voice moaning my name as his huge cock hit the back of my throat.

I choked on my own breath but styled it out by clearing my throat. George gave me a weird look.

“Intense,” I repeated, my voice catching.

I had to close my eyes for a heartbeat to try and collect myself. My blood had flowed to my dick so violently I felt light-headed. I thought I was going to pass out.

“Are you alright?”

I opened my eyes. George was peering at me curiously now.

I cleared my throat again.

“Um yes, yeah I agree – it was intense,” I said, my voice sounding slightly off. I looked around the room and then at the bedsheets.

“You need to wash these sheets mate,” I said, holding up the corner of a sheet and letting it drop. “They’re so starched by cum they could probably stand up by themselves. Crispy, much?”

To my surprise that earned me a laugh from George. My heart lit up.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” I asked cautiously, my fingers creeping towards his. I felt some of my fear subside as he let me take his hand and I linked my fingers with his. It felt so good. Warm. Wholesome. Lovely.

“Yeah I’m just a bit…” George trailed off and lowered his eyes, but I knew what he was thinking: the post-sex hormones had worn off and he was confused.

“What you need Georgie is less thinking and more not thinking,” I said, frowning at the way it came out. I had clearly lost half my brain between last night and this morning.

“You’re not very eloquent first thing, are you?” George smirked at me.

“Oh fuck off,” I swatted at him with my free hand. “I’m just dehydrated. You made me cum so hard last night I’m a bit stupid this morning.”

George blushed. He was getting all awkward. Cute.

“I didn’t even touch you. Not really,” he mumbled.

“George, baby, with the noises you were making last night you didn’t even need to,” I winked at him and moved closer.

George gave me an embarrassed look. I loved it. I was aware that I was now fully a simp for George. Me. The man who once fucked ten people in the space of a work week. How awkward. But I sort of loved it too.

“Oh my _god_. Do you think Ross and Adam heard us last night??” George groaned then, putting a hand to his face.

I laughed at that and he let go of my hand and shoved me, making me fall backwards onto the bed.

“Matty!” he hit at my leg. “Be serious! Do you think they heard us?”

“Nah, this place is built like a fortress. Thick walls,” I blatantly lied, leaving out the fact that yes our housemates had heard us, mainly because we were screaming like goats in heat last night and yes, both Adam and Ross were likely traumatised this morning as a result.

I sat back up. George opened his mouth to say something and then hesitated. He frowned.

“Something to add?” I asked, being bolder now and wrapping my arms around him. He let me pull him closer.

“It’s just… I’ve never felt that way before,” George swallowed. “This is going to sound so sad, please don’t laugh at me.”

He was blushing furiously.

“Why would I laugh?” I said, dropping my voice low. Our faces were centimetres apart now and George was so fucking gorgeous I could hardly stand it.

“I… I didn’t know that it could feel _that_ good. Sex, I mean,” George said, sounding a bit shook.

“Well Georgie, you did have an exceptional tour guide when it came to exploring the wonders of your prostate,” I smirked. “You know, if you thought that was good, just you wait until you put your coc– ”

I was cut short by a knock on the bedroom door.

George and I looked at each other. And then we heard Ross’s voice, groggy and rough from lack of sleep most likely:

“Matthew, terribly sorry to disturb you love but Emma just called. She needs a musician for a wedding today – short notice. Any chance you can oblige?”

Much and all as I didn’t want to leave the spectacular afterglow of George, I was also broke AF in terms of cash and I had expenses coming up – namely my rent and, hopefully, some essential courting/wooing of George now that we had finally consummated the obvious vibes between us.

“Do you mind?” I said to George and he shook his head.

“Give me a second!” I called to Ross and got out of bed. I turned to look for some clothes, but George grabbed my arm.

“What?” I asked.

“Don’t let him know I’m here,” George hissed, all worried.

“Eh… it’s your bedroom love. Don’t go getting shy on me now,” I said and George frowned.

“Matthew I’m serious. I need time to figure this out,” he whispered.

I rolled my eyes to show him that he was being ridiculous, but I nodded anyway. Some people were so uptight about their sexuality. This was why we had to stop giving people labels – it fucked with their heads. George was clearly having some minor sexual identity crisis. I needed to have another romp with him soon so he didn’t forget there was some small part of him that enjoyed cock.

I looked around for my jeans, my boxers, anything, but couldn’t distinguish what was mine from the mess of clothes on the floor. Ross and I had lived together long enough now that he had seen me as naked as the day is long many, many times. I grabbed George’s boxers (which had somehow ended up on his desk) and held them over my modesty as I opened the bedroom door a crack.

(I already had a growing erection because George was so beautiful and I had half convinced myself that a morning blow job was on the horizon.)

“Good morn – oh _Jesus_ , Matty, mate, put some fucking clothes on,” Ross groaned and held up a hand, shielding his eyes as I appeared.

“What? I’m covered,” I said and Ross grimaced.

“No, you’re really not. I can quite literally see your scrote.”

I quickly rearranged myself in my hand, letting go of the door to do so. The bedroom door, like everything else in 36C, was ridiculously old and had the tendency to swing in if left unattended.

Ross grinned as gravity betrayed me and the door swung fully open, revealing George sitting in the bed.

I could _feel_ George’s eyes boring holes into the back of my skull, but honestly, it was morning and I was standing in George’s bedroom naked, add to that the fact that George had been screaming my name last night and what did he expect really? Not only did Hann and Ross know about our nocturnal exploits, I was pretty sure every single person within a 5km radius had heard us.

And let’s be honest – I was so fucking _delighted_ that I had succeeded in my quest to have an orgasm with George that even if all our neighbours didn’t already know about last night’s events, I was probably going to tell them. Hell, if I had a YouTube account I’d be on that shit posting a play-by-play breakdown of what had happened. Maybe this was the kind of news that warranted a full page advert in _The Times_ or a Facebook post at the very least.

“Morning G,” Ross was smirking at George, who shifted uncomfortably on the bed behind me.

He said a quiet and deeply embarrassed “Hello” somewhere over my shoulder. I couldn’t look at him, but I could picture his face: Eyes wide, deer-in-headlights chic.

“Boss lady needs you at the hotel after lunch. She said the bride is obsessed with Robbie Williams so if you can bust some of that shit out, she’ll pay you extra,” said Ross.

“Nice one. I’ll be there,” I said. “Thanks mate.”

Despite the fact that our conversation had reached a natural conclusion, Ross made no attempt to leave. He gave George a cheeky wave and George sighed deeply behind me.

“Eh, might you fuck off now?” I said and Ross laughed.

“Sure, sure. Might want to get a shower though mate. You stink of sex,” his eyes dropped to my stomach, then back to my face. He winked at me and then left, chuckling as he headed into the kitchen.

I sighed and closed the door, turning back to George.

“Do you think he heard us last night?” asked George, all worried. He quickly followed it up with an: “Oh _fuck._ ”

I frowned and then followed his eyes when I realised he was looking at my stomach: There was a thin layer of dry cum matted into my treasure trail.

I looked up at George who was staring at me. We were silent for a heartbeat. And then we both started to laugh.

******

I was happy. I was better than happy. I was fucking _overjoyed_. I was beaming which was odd for me given that I usually possessed what Hann called “apathetic resting emo face.” But today? Today I was _vibing_. Life was fucking glorious. Not only had I given George the best orgasm of his entire life last night, he also hadn’t kicked me out of his room in sheer heterosexual horror this morning. In fact, after Ross had left, we had even shared another kiss before I headed off to hit the shower and get ready for work.

Granted George still looked a bit worried when I left him and, in his own words, he was a bit confused about what last night meant for him going forwards. But the fact of the matter was that his eyes had still fallen onto my naked body in the most arousing way as I was pulling on my clothes before I left him, and I had still felt his eyes lingering on my skinny-jean-clad arse as I exited the room.

And now here I was, belting out _Angels_ by Robbie Williams like it was the fucking hallelujah chorus at the afters of this wedding.

A crowd of bridesmaids, aunts and cousins were standing to my left, knocking back G&Ts and applauding enthusiastically after each song. Although I think that had less to do with my stellar performance and more to do with the fact that they were highly inebriated and I kept introducing songs in a flirtatious manner ala: “This next song is called _She’s The One_ – just like you love.” Insert wink and cheeky grin here.

My little flirtations were proving lucrative though and my pint glass that I kept for tips was overflowing. Yes, the universe was blessing me today. Nothing could possibly go wrong…

Things started to go wrong at some point in the afternoon, although I couldn’t exactly pin-point when and before I knew it, I was in the women’s bathroom necking wine straight from the bottle with a bridesmaid called Sasha and a few other randomers from the wedding.

I hadn’t intended on getting fucked up at someone else’s wedding, but it had all started innocently enough. A glass of champagne was sent my way so I could toast the happy couple along with everybody else. Then someone sent me a vodka. And before I knew what was going on, the G&T crew had stolen a few bottles from behind the bar and we had decamped to the loos for a bit of banter.

And now here I was, sitting on the sink – my arse literally in the hollow of the basin – while Sasha kept stroking my arm suggestively and the other women chatted loudly and cackled around us.

I’m not going to lie – it _was_ a good vibe and I was happy, but when Sasha finally leaned in for the kiss, my brain remembered something important:

“George!” I blurted into her face and Sasha stopped mid-pucker and gave me a confused look.

“Sorry love, _terribly_ sorry, but I have a George at home,” I said.

“You’re gay?” she frowned.

“Sort of. Yes and no,” I said. She raised a perfectly threaded brow.

“Look, why do we even have to label things in this day and age?” I said, gearing up to go on a rant about the constraints of modern sexual orientation labeling when she interrupted me:

“So you’re gay, yeah?”

I frowned and then waved a hand up and down my body.

“Love look at me, _look at me_. Do I look like the epitome of heterosexual male to you? I am _literally_ sitting in a sink.”

She gave me an annoyed look.

“Who’s George then?” she asked loudly and a few of the other women turned in our direction, all interested in the potential drama that was brewing beside the tampon machine.

“George is my housemate who I have been trying to fuck for,” – I glanced at the clock on my phone for effect – “About four fucking months now. It’s been a mammoth effort, believe me. But something finally happened last night.”

I smiled as the women around us let out a collective: _Awwww_. They were clearly invested in my story now.

“But,” I said, holding up a hand. They fell silent.

“He has a girlfriend. Sort of,” I did air quotes around the word “girlfriend” so they knew I was being sarcastic and petty about it.

“She’s not even a real girlfriend. She doesn’t live here and they’ve literally never seen each other. But he’s weirdly obsessed with her and I…” I trailed off.

“You what?” asked Sasha.

“I have _feelings_ for him,” I sighed. “Not just sexual feelings. Like proper feelings. Well, I think they’re proper feelings. ‘Feelings’ are a new phenomenon for me to be honest. But I just want him to dump her and be with me, but I can’t tell him that because he’s all skittish about sex and cock and having feelings is so fucking stupid. Like what am I supposed to say? _Oooh George, I have feelings for you_ ,” I rolled my eyes.

One of the older women, Auntie Josie, pushed up beside me absolutely blocked drunk (she was swaying) and shoved an unopened bottle of champagne into my hands.

“Go to him!” she declared loudly and a cheer rose up in the women’s bathroom.

“What?” I blinked.

“This is so romantic! You HAVE to go to him and tell him how you feel!”

And in that moment, arriving home hammered, with a bottle of Bollinger and declaring to George: **I HAVE A FEELING FOR YOU** seemed like the most natural next step in the world. Like it was cosmically aligned. Like the fucking universe had planted this liquored-up middle-aged woman by my side as some kind of angelic spirit guide. George would _love_ this shit.

So I hopped up amid the rapturous cheers and applause from my coven of toilet friends and ran out into the lobby where I subsequently ran smack into my boss Emma.

“Matthew? Where the **FUCK** have you been?!” She had a face like thunder. “Wait are you _drunk_?”

“Terribly sorry Emma love, there’s been an altercation. I have a George at home and I _must_ away,” I babbled, pushing past her.

By the time I got home, I had thankfully sobered up slightly not helped in part by the fact that I was so drunk I had gotten onto the wrong fucking tube and it took me almost an hour to get back to my original starting point, and then another hour on top of that to get back to 36C.

When I finally got in, Ross and Adam were having a cup of tea in the kitchen.

I had barely put my nose into the room when Ross started:

“Where the **fuck** have you been?”

Oh balls. He was pissed off.

“I took the wrong tube,” I mumbled.

“Why isn’t your phone on? I’ve been trying to ring you – Emma’s been on the phone Matty and she is royally fucked off at you,” Ross snapped.

I tried to make eye contact with Hann but he was purposely ignoring me. I sent a telepathic message: _Help me Hann. Help me. I’m drunk and pathetic. Care for me. Care for me you prick._

“Matty!” Ross barked at me.

“My phone was off because I was playing piano. I forgot to turn it back on,” I said, patting at my pockets, looking for my stupid phone.

“Why did you just up and leave in the middle of a job? Fucking hell mate, Emma is freaking out. And she’s pissed off at me too because I vouched for you! I told her you were a professional.”

Balls.

_Say something Hann. SAY SOMETHING._

I glared at Hann until eventually he was so uncomfortable he looked up at me. He sighed.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Ross, go easy on him. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation,” he said.

And then he turned to me and used his soft, gentle voice: “Matty, mate, why did you just up and leave in the middle of a job?”

This was the voice that Hann regularly used on me when he was trying to convince me to do something that I didn’t want to do.

“I didn’t ‘just up and leave,’” I said. “I just… forgot to go back for the second half of my shift.”

“Yeah, because you were getting hammered in a toilet,” said Ross. He sounded exasperated.

“Look, the bride’s friends bought me a few drinks and I lost track of time. I have other shit on my mind,” I snapped. Truthfully I was getting a bit defensive and by ‘other shit’ I meant George. Speaking of…

I peered around the kitchen.

“He’s on the extension having a smoke,” said Hann, reading my mind.

I pointed a finger gun at Hann, clicked my tongue and exited the kitchen, bottle of champagne in tow. I could hear Ross going off on a rant as I left. The words “irresponsible” and “fucking mess” followed me out into the garden. Rude.

I was still a bit buzzed from my afternoon and climbing onto a roof while holding a bottle of champagne is a lot more difficult than it sounds.

I eventually lugged myself onto the oil tank and popped my head up. George was sitting in his usual spot, staring into space and smoking a cigarette – that worried look still etched onto his face. And then, sensing that he was being watched, he glanced over and saw me. A small smile appeared on his face.

I held up the bottle of champagne and grinned. He started to laugh.

“Where on earth did you get that?” he asked as I pulled myself up onto the roof properly.

“I stole it from a wedding. Well, technically it was a gift from a drunken relative of the bride who stole it from the wedding,” I said walking over to George and handing it to him.

He read the label as I plopped down beside him.

“I’m also pretty sure I’ve cocked up my job at the hotel,” I sighed.

George put down the bottle and gave me a surprised look.

“Oh, it’s a long story,” I waved away the details with my hand. I didn’t want to talk about it. The fresh air was rapidly chasing away the last buzz of alcohol in my system and I was starting to realise that what I had done had been quite stupid. I never thought things through properly, I just did them without thinking about the consequences. Fuck’s sake.

“So how are you?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

George looked like he was going to lie to me but then he sighed and opted for honesty, which made me hopeful. Our night together had clearly bonded us – gotta love those post-sex hormones.

“I’m worried about Becca,” he said quietly.

My smile faltered. He wanted to talk about Becca. _Wonderful_.

“Oh?” I asked, trying to make my face as neutral as possible.

“She hasn’t been around at all today and it’s just a bit weird. I think something might have happened… She hasn’t answered any of my messages and I just… I need to talk to her,” said George. There was a thin thread of anxiety entwined in his words. He was trying to act nonchalant but from the way his shoulders tensed as he spoke I could tell he was more worried about her than he was letting on.

“She’s just disappeared. It doesn’t make any sense. Oh god, you don’t think she knows about us do you? I don’t want her to find out like that,” he raked a hand through his hair, more obviously stressed now.

“George, how on earth is she going to find out about us?” I was cringing on the inside at my lie. Becca already knew about us. One hundred percent. Mainly because I had lost my temper last night and told her, thus proving that yes, I never fucking thought things through.

“I just…” George closed his eyes and swallowed.

He was actually really upset over the fact that she wasn’t returning his messages. I had the unpleasant dawning realisation that I may have made a terrible error of judgement in sending Becca those messages last night. I may not have understood what the fuck George and Becca had going on together, but it was clearly important to him. And when he found out that I was the reason she was now apparently ignoring him… oh _bollocks._

I took a deep breath and convinced myself that I was going to apologise immediately and tell George what had happened, but when I opened my mouth instead of hearing the words “I’m sorry” I heard:

“Don’t worry G, maybe she’s just busy today. Look, how about we go inside, crack open this bad boy and just relax? It’s been an intense 24 hours.”

I was a terrible human being. But then George let out a breath he had been holding, smiled, reached out to me and grabbed my hand.

“Thanks Matty. You’re always looking out for me,” he said, squeezing my hand slightly.

I melted for all of ten seconds before a voice piped up inside my skull: _You are an awful person Matthew._

George got to his feet, pulling me up with him. As I watched him start to climb down from the roof, I knew one thing: I just wanted George. That was it. I just wanted him. I didn’t care if Becca fell off the face of the fucking planet and never spoke to him again, _I just wanted him._

George and I were made for each other.

******

I had naively thought that George would forget about Becca after a week, but he didn’t. In fact, he got way more anxious over the entire thing.

“I’m just really worried about her Matty. It’s so unlike her to just go offline without saying something. I really don’t know what to do… Fuck, do you think I should call the police?” he sighed heavily down the phone.

It was 11:30am and I was freezing my bollocks off on the high street. I had been hauling my ass out of bed at the arse crack of dawn for the past few days, trying to busk enough money together for my rent. I had officially been let go from the hotel due to my “irresponsible” behaviour at the wedding afters and no amount of grovelling would make Emma change her mind.

Realising that my cash flow was rapidly drying up for the month, I had been scrambling trying to book gigs but no one seemed interested and I was starting to get stressed. I was also stressed about George too. Beautiful, beautiful George.

George was so worried regarding the whereabouts of his online “girlfriend” that he was distracted and upset, and no amount of blatant flirting from me seemed to make him forget Becca. I was starting to feel even more guilty about what I had done. Every time he spoke about her (or I _thought_ about what I had done behind George’s back), I kept getting this cold, icy feeling inside my chest.

I was also starting to realise that Becca played a much larger role in George’s life than I initially thought. So there was that. Bad vibes.

I had hoped that George and I would be blissfully wrapped up in each other and fucking like absolute rabbits after the other night but, sigh, no such luck. Nothing had happened between us since – nothing, zero, zilch – and it was driving me _insane_. I had relived our night together so many times in recent days that my dick literally could not take any more wanking.

“Matty? Are you there?”

George’s voice brought me back to the chilly high street.

“Yeah, yes, sorry,” I said.

“Just… what should I do?” George asked, his voice uncertain.

“I don’t know G. Maybe she’s just gone away for a bit? Like a holiday? I’m sure she’s fine – she’s probably just taking a digital detox or something,” I said and the lie sounded unconvincing, even to me.

I felt terrible. That icy feeling in my chest seemed to be getting worse with every day that passed.

“I guess so… anyway, I better go get ready for work. Smoke later?” he asked.

“Of course love,” I said.

I said goodbye to George, hung up and went to survey the contents of my guitar case. Despite being out here for a fucking _age_ I had made approximately £4.25 and someone had also kindly thrown in a half-eaten packet of Wotsits.

“How is this my actual life?” I said aloud.

(An old man passing by gave me a weird look.)

I rolled my eyes and pocketed the change, stuffing the Wotsits in my coat pocket as well because there wasn’t any bins nearby and I may have been a terrible person but I was also aware of the harsh realities facing our environment if we, as a species, didn’t hurry up and get our shit together.

I cast an eye over the high street. It was dead and this was just depressing. There was no point in staying out here. I sighed and resigned myself to the fact that I was just going to go home, get stoned and wank yet again (much to the protestations of my dick) when I heard a familiar voice behind me:

“What? No encore?”

I turned around and grinned as Adam approached me, all bundled up against the weather in a hat and that ridiculous scarf that was too big for him. And then my eyes landed on his hands – he was holding two takeaway coffees.

“My hero,” I swooned. “I could honestly kiss you!”

“Please don’t,” he said.

He handed me one of the coffees and I wrapped my hands around it. Toasty. My fingers were fucking freezing (it was impossible to play the guitar while wearing gloves).

“So what brings you to my office on this fine morning?” I asked, gesturing to the high street.

“Well, I can see you from the window of the pharmacy and – no offence mate – you look a bit pathetic,” he clapped me on the shoulder with his free hand.

“Eric and Shauna begged me to come out here and get you to shut up. They can’t take the emo tunes anymore.”

(Eric and Shauna worked in the pharmacy with Hann, sort of like his minions. I had shagged both of them which made popping in and buying condoms so awkward I now purposely went to the other pharmacy that was 20 minutes out of my way.)

“My tunes are _not_ emo,” I started but Hann stopped me with a roll of his eyes.

“Okay, fine, but good music should be evocative,” I grumbled.

“Yeah, but wouldn’t happier stuff make you more cash?”

Hann made a good point.

“And why are you even out here?” he added.

I shifted uncomfortably beside him.

“My cash flow situation is not ideal since the hotel let me go,” – Hann opened his mouth to say something but I cut him off by holding up my hand – “And I know it was irresponsible on my side. I regret my actions. I was just in a weird place. I was so happy about George I just lost the run of myself.”

“Speaking of George, how is he? I met him in the kitchen yesterday morning. He looked stressed out of his mind,” said Hann.

“Oh, his online “girlfriend” has gone MIA,” I said dismissively.

“Oh my god! Is she all right?” Hann asked, all worried.

“Relax. She hasn’t been kidnapped or anything. She’s just not online,” I rolled my eyes for emphasis and to illustrate how fucking _ridiculous_ I thought the concept of having an online girlfriend was. I also conveniently left out the part that I was the reason Becca wasn't online. Probably. (Okay, fuck, definitely - let's be honest, it was _all_ me).

“Oh. Right. And you and George are…?” Hann raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what we are. At the moment we’re nothing because he’s so worried about Becca. It’s weird… I hate seeing him so upset over something so stupid,” I sighed.

That icy feeling started washing over me in waves.

“Well, even if it seems weird to us, technically they are a couple and have been for what? Six years now? Maybe it’s understandable that G would be upset,” said Hann. “But then again, what would I know about relationships? I can’t even get a text back from Sexy Frodo.”

My eyes narrowed at that. Sexy Frodo. Why did that sound familiar? Then it dawned on me:

“The bird from the Halloween party? Or should I say the Hobbit from the Halloween Party?”

Hann’s cheeks started to go red.

“Get in!” I winked at him.

“Get out more like,” he said glumly.

“Cheer up Hann. You’re the hottest wizard in the Shire. She’ll come round,” I said, and Hann laughed.

We drank our coffees in silence and then Hann said:

“Do you think I should grow a beard like Gandalf for real?”

“No Hann. I don’t think you should do that mate.”

******

“I’m going to America,” George declared.

I was so stoned it took a few seconds for my brain to actually comprehend what he was saying.

“I’m buying a ticket as soon as I get paid this week and I’m just going to go and make sure she’s okay.”

He was pacing back and forth in front of his bed, high as a kite and incredibly stressed out for someone who was so baked. It was harshing my vibe.

“I just can’t sit here doing nothing, just waiting to see if she shows up again. I don’t know what happened, why she’s not answering. I mean, she was fine the last time we spoke and then she just disappeared. It doesn’t make any sense. And I feel guilty Matty. I feel so fucking guilty about what we did…”

George’s voice faded into background noise. I was stunned. He couldn’t go to America. Why the _fuck_ would George go to America?

“Matty?”

George needed to stay here. If he went to America, Becca would get her claws into him even deeper.

“Matty…”

Oh my God. Becca was like the machines from _The Matrix_. Wait. Becca WAS The Matrix and I was like Neo. I had finally woken George up to a new life via his prostate as opposed to giving him a red pill. He _couldn’t_ go to America. That was ludicrous.

“Matthew!”

I looked up. George was staring at me. His face was strained. He was freaking out.

“Have you been listening to me?” he asked.

“I’m sorry love, look, you have my full attention,” I said, making a show of grabbing the ash tray off his desk and stubbing out the spliff we were sharing.

I waved away the smoke that was in the air.

“I feel guilty about what we did Matty, it’s eating me alive,” he sat down on the bed beside me and ran a hand down his face.

“Why feel guilty?” I asked, distracted again. I was still fixated on the concept of George packing his bags and going to America. George could NOT go to America. What the actual fuck?

“Because I cheated on her and because I think that… oh fuck,” he flopped back onto the mattress and stared forlornly at the ceiling.

“That?” I asked.

“That I… I think… fuck. _Fuck_ ,” George sighed heavily and slung his arms over his face so I couldn’t see his expression.

“G?” I reached out and placed a hand on his leg.

“I think that after much consideration I now think I’m into men,” he mumbled finally.

I definitely took that bit of information in.

I leaned down beside him and tried to prise his arms away from his face so I could look at him. He swatted at me but finally relented and lowered them so we could look at each other.

“So you don’t feel guilty about what we _actually_ did, you just feel guilty about the fact that you “cheated”?” I asked.

“No, oh god. Sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like that,” he said, then added: “Why are you using air quotes?”

I shook my head. I was using air quotes because was it really technically cheating if you had never laid eyes (or a hand) on your alleged “girlfriend”? But I didn’t say that out loud. It was a bit too harsh, so for once I actually kept my opinion to myself. What a miracle.

“Never mind,” I said.

“I don’t regret what happened with you. I hope you know that,” George said then, quietly.

“Well I mean how could you? I _am_ stunning,” I raised an eyebrow at him suggestively and he smiled.

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve been distant with you since we… you know,” his said. His eyes were cast low now. Little Georgie was embarrassed. How cute.

“Since we sucked each other’s cocks. It’s alright G, you’re in your thirties – you’re allowed to say the words ‘suck’ and ‘cock’ in the same sentence,” I said.

George’s face reddened and I couldn’t help laughing.

“Oh fuck _off_ ,” he hit at me, “I’m trying to be serious here.”

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry – I’ll behave. Go on,” I said.

“I know that what me and Becca have seems weird to people and I get that it’s a bit hard to understand. But she’s helped me so much Matty. You don’t even know _how_ much. A few years ago I went through a really, really tough time and she was the only person I could talk to,” he said.

“I’m not good with people. And I’m weird and I’m awkward and I don’t know how to be around people really… It never came naturally to me and I felt isolated and it was hard. She… she helped me.”

The atmosphere in the room had changed completely now and I low key hated it. This was getting too serious. I wanted to peace out, but I was glued to the bed. And then George looked up at me and his eyes were shining with tears.

That horrible chill in my chest hit me violently and started radiating outwards. I was a horrible person. _Fuck_. I was such a fucking _dickhead_.

“Before I met you, Becca was the only person who ever really took an interest in me. Most people just brand me as a weirdo and they don’t try to get to know me. That’s why it’s so important for me to talk to her, to be honest with her. I have to tell her what I’ve done. I owe it to her. She’s given me so much Matty,” he said.

I was getting colder and colder with every word he spoke.

“And I need to figure out what this means now that I’m into men. It’s just so confusing. I just feel… I feel a bit lost,” he said.

A heavy silence landed on the two of us and after what felt like an age, George’s eyes met mine and it felt like his eyes were literally burrowing a hole into my soul. My stomach was twisting and my mind just kept playing one thought over and over again on repeat: _I am a shitty person. I am a shitty person. I am a shitty person._

I jerked my eyes away from George’s suddenly, hoping that it would break the spell and assuage some of my guilt.

“Matty?” George said my name, but I couldn’t look at him.

My high had well and truly gone and instead it had been replaced with a stark truth: George was really upset and it was all my fault. I was a fraud. I kept going on about how I’d do anything for him and yet here I was, actively fucking up the main relationship in his life. I couldn’t just sit here and listen to how cut up he was when the entire thing was _my fucking fault_. I had knowingly caused George pain. What the fuck did that say about me?

“Fuucccck,” I sighed out the word harshly.

“Matty? What’s going on?”

George sat up and placed a hand on my shoulder and I stupidly, idiotically, looked up at his sad, worried eyes and I knew I was done for. Game over.

My mouth started moving and all these words started to spill out of me. I had no control over my mouth:

“I know why Becca isn’t talking to you. It’s all my fault. I’m sorry George. After we spent the night together, I accidentally picked up your phone…”

I felt like I was having an out of body experience (and not the good kind) as I heard myself tell George the entire story. He just sat there, watching me, eyes slightly wide but his face blank and unreadable.

And then when I had finished confessing my horrible behaviour to him, silence fell again.

Minutes passed. Eventually he took a deep breath and said my name:

“Matty?”

I looked up, half-afraid. He was smiling at me. I frowned.

“Get out.”

Wait. That didn’t sound right.

“What?” I asked cautiously. The smile on his face was really fucking throwing me.

“I said get out,” George shook his head and laughed, but it was bitter.

I realised that his smile was ironic. Fuck.

“George I – ” I started.

George shook his head again.

“Can’t we just manufacture a happy ending here?” I asked, panicked.

“Matty – Get. Out.”

I watched him, my insides all collapsing in on themselves, as he got up and opened his bedroom door.

“Get out,” he said it again.

My heart sank as I got to my feet and walked over to the door. I looked at him sadly.

“I really am sorry,” I said quietly.

“Yeah, me too,” he said.

He closed the door behind me without another word.

******

My forehead was resting on the table in front of me. We were in the pub and the table was sticky and gross, but I was so upset I didn’t care.

“You need to explain this to me again mate,” said Adam. His voice was measured and careful. Like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

“So George likes men now but he also hates you? I can’t keep up with this narrative.”

I sighed.

“Look, I finally sealed the deal with George and it was amazing,” I said.

“We know. We heard,” said Ross.

“Well, he loved it. I did this thing called prostate milk– ”

Their faces stopped me mid-sentence. They were both grimacing.

“Too much information. Get to the part where it all goes tits up,” said Adam.

I rolled my eyes.

“Fine. Basically I gave George the best orgasm of his life and then I was drunk on my own post-orgasm hormones, temporarily lost my mind and told his “girlfriend”” – I raised my arms up from my spot on the table to do air quotes around the word girlfriend – “to fuck off.”

Both Adam and Ross groaned.

“And then she just went MIA and now George is distressed. Like _proper_ distressed. Like a dog that’s been left home alone for too long. So, because I am an actual fucking simp I was honest and told him what I had done,” I said.

“Mate, why on earth would you _tell_ George you did that?” Ross asked.

I raised my head up from the table and looked at the two of them incredulously.

“I summoned you both here for help. Well… mostly sympathy, but help too,” I said.

This was true. I had sent a Code Potato Waffle to the group chat. The most sacred of all codes, the Code Potato Waffle (CPW) was our version of ‘Avengers, assemble!’ although what usually incited a CPW wasn’t world threatening. Examples of previous CPWs included that one time when Adam was hammered and had accidentally gotten trapped in a toilet cubical on a night out and that time Ross has thrown his back out while having a wank and had to be helped out of the shower and escorted to the nearest A&E (that one was no fun for any of us – you try explaining that shit to a doctor when your mate is off his face on painkillers and keeps yelling, “Matty don’t let them amputate my dick! I’ll never touch it again!”).

“Again, why the _fuck_ did you tell George? Why not just lie about it?” Ross asked, ignoring Adam who was giving him a disapproving look.

“I had to tell him. You don’t understand. He was freaking me out. He was all upset and then got all starey at me and I felt an unpleasant feeling welling up inside me,” I clawed at my chest.

“Your conscience?” Hann raised an eyebrow at me.

“Oh fuck, I don’t know, maybe?” I slumped forward and put my head in my hands.

“He told me to get out. It’s a bad vibe. What am I going to do?”

Adam patted my back but it offered me zero comfort. I was depressed.

“I don’t know mate. Hopefully it’ll all just sort itself out,” Adam said.

“See? This is why I told you not to shit where you eat,” said Ross.

“Oh shut up Ross, you bell end,” I snapped.

******


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Okay friends, we are officially approaching the end of this weird little fic. I sat down and properly planned out the ending yesterday and I've been frantically writing ever since. The good news is that the last few chapters will be long. Thanks for sticking with me so far and for all your awesome comments - you've inspired me to keep on creating Gatty fics so thanks :) I reckon I have about three more long chapters for you. I'm so excited for you to see what I have planned (and yes, there will be more smut - gotta have the smut!). Enjoy!

**Chapter 14**

“You know Hann, I’ve always loved you. Like _always_ , always loved you. You’re so quiet but you have big Zaddy energy, for real mate.”

Hann grimaced as I leaned towards him, tugging on his tie.

“You and I baby, we could leave this town. We could just fuck off somewhere and start again,” I threw my arms out wide, knocking the glass of wine on the coffee table in front of me onto the floor.

“For fuck’s sake Matty,” Ross’s voice somewhere to my right, irritated.

Noise of the television in the background.

I clasped at Adam’s hands.

“Let’s run away together Hann! Let’s run away to, to… Wells! Let’s run away to Wells and live the life of our dreams!”

“Wells? As in the Cathedral City?” Hann gave me a confused look and then said to Ross: “Has he been watching more property shows?”

“Fucking _Escape to the Country_ or some bollocks. Will you please deal with him? I can’t take any more of him,” Ross’s voice again.

“Run away with me Adam!” I released his hands and slung my arm around his neck, pulling him towards me so I could kiss him. Hann grappled with me, trying to hold me as far away from himself as possible.

“Mate? Mate?” he was staring at me now, trying to make eye contact with me.

“Focus Matty,” he said.

The living room was spinning and I felt so good. Like _SO fucking good_. I just wanted to laugh and have banter. Adam was being _way_ too fucking serious. I reached out a hand and pressed at the corner of his mouth, trying to push his mouth up into a smile. It didn’t work. He grabbed my wrist, distractedly.

“How much has he had to drink?” Adam was looking past me now.

“I want attention!” I pouted. I tousled Adam’s hair with my free hand.

“Your hair is _so fucking soft,_ ” I said while Adam released my wrist and then tried to slap both my hands away from him.

“At least a bottle and a half. He’s been like this since I got in,” said Ross.

I stopped my movements abruptly causing Adam to eye me with concern. I shivered. I suddenly didn’t feel so good.

“Matty? Matt… oh fuck,” Adam jumped back just in time as I flung myself towards the end of the sofa and puked down the side.

“Jesus _Christ_. Take him to bed would you?” said Ross.

Adam approached me gingerly and pushed my hair back out of my face.

“Matty, love, do you want to go to bed?” Soft voice. All concerned. I loved Hann so much. I would die for Hann. Hann must be protected at all fucking costs. I would kill anyone who even breathed in his direction. Dear, sweet, lovely Hann.

“Hann, baby, I always want to go to bed with you,” I croaked. I tried to wink at him but was vaguely aware that I was just closing and opening both of my eyes at the same time.

“Alright Romeo, come on, let’s go.”

Adam wrapped his arms around me and hoisted me to my feet. I didn’t protest as he pretty much carried me up the stairs and deposited me onto my sad little single bed.

“Aaaadaaaam,” I called after him as he left my room.

“Adam? Adaaaaam!”

“What?” he asked, reappearing a few minutes later with a pint glass of water and a bowl.

“I want attention!”

“Sit up,” he said, choosing to ignore me and I obliged.

“You’re so strict. So bossy. It’s very sexy. I know we’re mates, but I’m into it,” I slurred and Adam groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Hey, did you know I have a bit of a dominatrix vibe in me? I only discovered it when my fingers were up George’s ars – blargh!”

Adam held the glass of water up to my lips as I was speaking and I spluttered, water going everywhere.

“The **_fuck_**?!”

“Just drink it Matty, Jesus Christ,” said Adam, his patience now wearing thin.

“What even _is_ this?” I said and Adam rubbed his eyes. He was tired.

“The water is for the horrific hangover that you will most definitely have in the morning – the bowl is for the inevitable vomit to come,” he said.

I tried to push the water away but Adam was having none of it and held his ground.

“I’m trying to take care of you,” he said.

I eventually slurped down a mouthful of water begrudgingly just to shut him up.

“Mate I know that you’re having a tough time right now, but the day drinking and this – whatever _this_ is – ” He waved his free hand at my body.

I looked down. I was just wearing my boxers and one sock. I had zero recollection of where my clothes had gone.

“This has got to stop. You’ve got to pull yourself together. What if George sees you like this?” he continued.

“Contrary to what you think you have deduced from my penchant for day wine and my new sartorial choices, I am, _Adam_ , perfectly fine,” I scoffed.

“This is you being fine? Seriously?” Adam rolled his eyes.

“And why wouldn’t I be fine? I am at my physical and sexual peak. I am _so_ fine. Tip-top condition mate. I’m actually _so_ together,” I slurred.

“Oh yeah? Where’s your other sock? Where are your pants?” Adam countered.

(He had me there.)

I picked up my phone and Adam watched me as I opened Instagram and took a selfie.

“Flawless,” I said, typing a caption: _Physical perfection babe xxx._ I sent it into the online abyss.

“I give up. Look would you just get some sleep? We’re going to have a talk in the morning… or a fucking intervention. Whichever happens first,” he stood up as I did what I was told and slipped under my duvet.

“Hann?” I asked as he went to leave my room.

He stopped and looked at me.

“Yes?”

“It’s really hard you know…” I said and he gave me a sympathetic look.

He opened his mouth as if he was going to offer me some stellar words of comfort but I cut him off before he had a chance:

“It’s hard being SUCH A FUCKING LEGEND BABY!”

I collapsed into laughter as Hann shot me a withering look and left.

******

I woke up the next morning lying on the floor beside my bed and shivering.

“W-what the…?” I pushed myself up into a seated position. The world lurched sickeningly.

My head started slamming almost immediately and then a very distinct smell wafted up into my face.

“Oh _fucking hell_. Fuck,” I groaned, glancing down. A bowl on the floor beside me, most presumably left by Hann (I couldn’t really remember) was full of puke.

_Oh my god._

I went to run a hand down my face and realised that I was holding a piece of crumpled up paper. I smoothed it out. It was a note:

> _Dear George,_
> 
> _I am sorry that I made you cum and helped you out with your blue balls. That was so selfish of me. I am also sorry that I messaged your catfish GIRLFRIEND_ _☹._

(I blinked. The word “girlfriend” was written in all caps and there was a sad little emo face drawn beside it. I cringed and continued reading):

> _I know we probably can’t be friends anymore what with me being intimately acquainted with your prostate. I dare say Ross was right – he told me not to shit where I eat. Anyway, you can have the kitchen extension. I’ll find a new place to smoke._
> 
> _Kindest regards,  
> _ _Matthew ~~xxx.~~_

I had added three little kisses after my name but then clearly had thought the better of it and scribbled them out.

 _Kindest regards_ – how very retro of me. At least I was consistent. But thank fuck I hadn’t actually given this to George. I groaned again. If I was so out of it I was writing pathetic little notes to George what else had I done?

I grabbed my phone and the screen was filled with Instagram notifications. Great.

I practically hid behind my hand as I opened up the stupid app to see what bullshit I had posted. A selfie. Wonderful. I looked _wrecked_ in the photo and that caption. Fuck’s sake.

There were some comments beneath it:

> **@healytymd:** Lol gimp x  
>  **@jamieoborne:** On the razzle dazzle more like, innit? 😂🙈😱

A few more comments from friends of friends and those annoying bots designed to act like thirsty women and then, to seal the deal, a comment from my mum:

> **@Denise_Welch:** Will u call me love? Xx

_Fuck_. A come-to-Jesus conversation with my mother – that was the last thing I needed today.

I looked at the photo again. I couldn’t delete it. If I deleted it everyone would know I was just drunk and stupid. I’d sooner people think I did it on purpose. Ironically like. I had an image to uphold. Yes, the selfie was cringey as fuck and I looked out of it… what was I doing with my eyes? Was that supposed to be a wink? Fucking hell. My hair looked good though so at least there was that.

Ugh. I was miserable though. I hadn’t seen George since our fight a few days ago. Adam told me that George was “just busy” when I asked if he had encountered him, but I got the feeling that Adam was bending the truth to protect my feelings. It was obvious G was going out of his fucking way to avoid me.

And I thought that our night together would spark something beautiful, and maybe it could have if I hadn’t been such an idiot and told Becca to fuck off. I was too impulsive. I really was. It was my biggest character flaw. Well, that and day drinking when I was sad, which had become a regular occurrence over the last few days.

Like the night when I had first found out about Becca, I no longer wanted to live in this weird new reality where George hated me. I just wanted to numb out and unsubscribe. It wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism but fuck it. It would do the job until I just… got over it I guess? I needed to find someone new. I needed to fuck George out of my system. It was the only way.

But as I sat on the floor pondering this, I realised that I couldn’t just fuck someone new. I instinctively knew that my body wouldn’t comply with that plan of attack. George really had, as I had previously thought, broken my dick. An unfortunate turn of events.

I threw my phone on the ground and sighed, tilting my head back to look at the ceiling. My eyes wandered and then I realised something: Pete’s corner was empty.

My first reaction was to immediately climb onto my bed so the little fucker didn’t come running at me in my vulnerable state and scare the absolute living shit out of me if he had somehow made his way onto the floor.

“Pete?” I hissed his name, my eyes scanning the room, trying to figure out if he had just repositioned himself somewhere else. There was no sign of him.

I tentatively grabbed the plastic bag that was still home to some of my clothes and tipped its contents onto the floor, half terrified of actually coming face-to-face with the spider but no dice. Still no sign of Pete.

And then I had a very weird reaction. I wasn’t sure if it was the hangover or how things had gone down with George, but my eyes started to sting.

“I’m fine, I’m actually fine,” I said aloud, trying to convince myself that it was the truth.

I took a deep breath. I coughed. I scrambled around my bed, looking for a spliff. Praying that I’d come across some forgotten zoot to take the edge off things a bit.

“This is totally _fine_ ,” I choked out the last word and then, not finding any marijuana in my bed, I just gave in to my feelings. A big fat tear rolled down my cheek.

So this was my life: Living in a coffin that smelled like puke, unemployed, zero romantic prospects and now even the stupid fucking spider that lived in my bedroom didn’t want to spend time with me. Ugh, _the feels_.

I lay in bed having an existential crisis and googling: _Self-help for people who are in their 30s who are fucking messes_ until eventually I was so hungry I was starting to feel even sicker than I was. I needed a cure.

I got up and forced myself to deal with the bowl of puke and to at least try and make myself a presentable human being.

“You look surprisingly less shit than I thought you would this morning,” said Ross cheerfully as I dragged myself into the kitchen a short while later. And believe me, I was fucking _dragging_ myself. I felt like death.

I was so emotionally fragile all I wanted was soft textures and an IV of tea hooked straight to my veins. I wearing comfy old joggers and a ridiculously furry hoodie that some bird had left behind her after a night of passion. It was insanely soft and I loved it, so I had just kept it long after my dalliance with her had ceased. I looked absurd but I didn’t care.

It was Saturday and Ross and Adam were enjoying a leisurely breakfast together. Something smelled _delicious_ and I wasn’t even paying attention to Ross as my eyes scanned the empty plates on the table in front of the two of them.

“Fry up – figured you’d need it. There’s some sausages in the oven for you,” said Hann.

“Adam Hann, you are just pure perfection in human form,” I said and then, as a memory from last night came back to me, adding: “Sorry I called you a Zaddy last night.”

“You’re not the only one calling him ‘Zaddy’ these days,” Ross grinned. Hann kicked him under the table – a blush was spreading across his cheeks.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Interesting reaction…”

And then I remembered:

“Sexy Frodo?”

Adam’s face reddened even more. Definitely Sexy Frodo. I laughed and gave him a clap on the back as I made my way to the oven.

“Have you seen her magic ring yet?” I quipped over my shoulder as I took my breakfast out of the oven and Ross started laughing.

“Can we not talk about my sex life over breakfast? Thanks,” said Adam. He shifted awkwardly in his chair. He was all embarrassed – how cute.

“Come now Hann, we’re all mates here,” I grinned and held up a sausage, wiggling it suggestively at him.

Hann rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, getting mugged off.

“Her name is Charlotte,” he mumbled.

“She’ll always be Sexy Frodo to me mate,” I said. “Brew?”

Hann and Ross nodded and I hit the kettle on to boil. A swell of nausea rolled through me and I groaned as my head throbbed. Why did hangovers tend to come in waves?

“There’s some rehydration salts in the downstairs bathroom,” Hann said before I was able to beg him for some kind of pharmaceutical to make me feel better.

I frowned. The downstairs bathroom was a little too close to George’s room for comfort right now. Hann sensed I was dithering and turned around in his chair so he could eye me.

“So is this the plan? You’re both just going to avoid each other until one of you either moves out or dies?” he asked.

“Hey, I’m not avoiding anyone. He started it,” I said, grabbing the kettle. I set about making three cups of tea.

“Technically you started it when you told his weird girlfriend to get bent,” said Ross – he was scrolling on his phone.

“Thanks Ross, that’s really fucking helpful,” I snapped. I put his cup of tea down in front of him muttering a “wanker” under my breath.

“Nice picture by the way,” Ross grinned holding up his phone so I could see my selfie from last night.

I rolled my eyes and sat down with my breakfast, sadly chewing on a sausage and letting a forlorn sigh out through my nostrils. I hadn’t had a smoke yet and my craving for nicotine, mixed with my hanger feels, was making everything seem worse.

Desperate to stop Hann asking more questions about George, I put a question of my own to the table:

“Where do spiders go when they just disappear?” I asked.

“Probably into your mouth while you’re passed out from drinking too much wine,” said Ross and I froze.

Oh.

**Fuck.**

Expecting an insult from me and not getting one, Ross looked up from his phone: “Why do you ask?”

“Pete’s missing,” I said and then, because I am an absolute twat, I started crying. Like proper crying.

Adam and Ross shared a look and then Adam got up and put an arm around me tentatively. This simple action made me choke on a sob. Ross was looking at me like I had completely lost my mind.

“It’s going to be alright mate,” Hann’s voice was soft and soothing but it offered me zero comfort.

“Pete has left me!” I howled.

“Pretty sure this has got nothing to do with Pete, but for what it’s worth I don’t think you accidentally swallowed him,” said Adam.

“You just need to eat some more and have a rest,” He speared my half-eaten sausage with my fork and held it up towards my mouth like I was a toddler.

I grabbed the fork off him and took a miserable bite, wiping at my eyes with my other hand.

“I need to get out of the city. I just need… I need to…” I looked around the kitchen, like I’d magically find something there that would erase all my problems and make me feel better.

“Go to Wells?” Ross suggested and I gave him a puzzled look while he and Adam tried not to laugh at each other.

******

“Yes mum, I swear I’m alright. Honestly. No, you don’t need to visit. Well ignore Louis because he’s just trying to cause some drama – you know what he’s like. Mum. Mum? Mum… _Denise_. Fuck, sorry. _Shit_ I’m sorry for saying fuck,” I pressed the phone against my chest and let out a long, silent scream.

“Matthew? Matthew?”

I could hear her voice crackling faintly on the other end of the phone as I took a deep breath to steady myself. I loved my mum. I loved her dearly. But this conversation was quickly veering towards “Matthew what are you doing with your life?” territory and I was too emotionally unequipped to deal with _that_ conversation right now. Actually, come to think of it, I was never emotionally equipped to deal with that conversation. In fact, I had spent the past twelve years of my life fucking dodging that conversation – not that it stopped her from trying. My mother was persistent if nothing else.

I put her on speaker while I frantically typed out a message to Hann who was upstairs:

> **Matty:** Can you please come down here and tell me that I’m urgently needed for something?  
>  **Hann:** Is Denise trying to shower you with her love and affection?  
>  **Matty:** Yes. Help me 😭  
>  **Hann:** What a terrible affliction, to be so loved by a parent.  
>  **Hann:** Talk to your mum mate – she’s lovely 💖

I sighed resignedly. It was just after 9pm and I had purposely been avoiding this phone call all day long. Instead I had spent my day moping around the house hungover and feeling sorry for myself. Ugh. Maybe Hann was right. Maybe I did need to talk to my mum – she did give birth to me and all. It was probably the least I could do.

I interjected with a “ _No,_ what?” when she said: “You’ll never _believe_ what happened to poor Carol’s nephew” then and opened up Instagram, only half paying attention to my mum as she went off on a tangent about two people that lived in the village near her that I didn’t know and hadn’t heard of in my entire life. My mum loved a bit of local gossip and at least it got her focus off my life for a bit.

I clicked onto my profile and eyed the selfie from last night, rolling my eyes at myself again for being such a fucking twat and then my phone vibrated with a new notification:

**Becca235 liked your photo.**

What.

The.

Fuck.

Surely it couldn’t be??

I quickly hit the username which took me to a pointless profile – it was just filled with pictures of nature and a puppy (which was adorable to be fair) but there were no selfies, no identifying features, nothing. There were also like ten followers. I knew it was her though, it _had_ to be her. What other bird named Becca would be creeping on my profile? She must have accidentally hit the love heart on my selfie without realising it. _Mortifying_. But also, what fucking time was it in the States? I looked over at the window in the living room. It was dark outside so if it was night time here, it was probably the afternoon in wherever-the-fuck Nevada she lived, which somehow made this probably-accidental-Insta-like even worse.

A weird feeling started growing in my chest. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my noise. My headache hadn’t lifted all day but now it seemed to be taking a sickening new turn and getting stronger. I felt about as rough as a badger’s arse.

After 20 more minutes of local gossip and promises that I’d visit soon, I hung up on my mum and took myself upstairs to my coffin. I just needed to sleep but as I got into bed I couldn’t stop thinking about Becca.

I tossed and turned and at some point I must have fallen asleep because the noise of someone shuffling around downstairs woke me up. I looked at my phone – it was 4am. Adam and Ross were both home so it was obviously George.

What was he doing creeping around at this hour? I lay there listening intensely and thought I heard the back door open, but I wasn’t sure.

******

I couldn’t stop thinking about Becca. Like I literally _could not stop_ thinking about her. And the more I thought about her, the more I felt that weird feeling in my chest – like a dead weight. It felt devoid of warmth and happiness – like someone had dumped a bucket of ice cold water into my chest cavity.

I kept going back to that Instagram notification:

**Becca235 liked your photo.**

I wasn’t even fucked off at her by this point, I just felt _weird_ about it. And when I feel weird about things I have the tendency to get a bit obsessive. And then more weird (it’s a vicious circle).

After a few days of brooding and overthinking and generally acting sketchy as fuck, Ross and Hann called me on it.

We were sitting in the pub, as we occasionally liked to do of a weeknight evening. I was glued to my phone like I had been non-stop for the past week. I had stalked Becca’s Insta so much by this stage I felt as if I now had a personal emotional connection with her puppy.

“Alright, what is this?” Hann asked, waving his hand in my direction.

I looked up from my phone.

“What?” I blinked.

“Exactly,” he said, frowning at me. “Something has happened – you’ve been walking around like you’re surgically attached to your phone. And for someone who is usually ridiculously bad at leaving their phone unattended and/or losing it… well it’s not like you, is it?”

“And there’s been a lot of _this_ going on,” said Ross. He pulled up the hood of his top so it covered his eyes and started pouting.

“I don’t look like that Ross,” I scowled. “Knob.”

I locked my phone and put it on the table then immediately started peeling the label off Ross’s bottle of beer just for something to do with my hands.

“What’s going on with you?” Hann asked and I sighed like a moody, emo teenager.

They both eyed me as I shifted in my chair. Then ran a hand through my hair. Then reorganised some beer mats… picked up my glass of wine… put it back… chewed on my bottom lip… started practicing piano warm-ups on the top of the table.

Eventually Adam put a hand on my arm, forcing me to stop my little anxiety-fuelled fidgets. I had the tendency to squirm when I was uncomfortable.

“Mate?” He raised his eyebrows and gave me his signature ‘we-need-to-talk’ look.

“Fuck. Right. Look. It’s Becca… she liked my selfie on Instagram,” I said and Ross burst out laughing.

“Ross!” Adam shot him a death glare.

“What? I honestly thought he was going to say he had murdered her for a second and that this situation was going to take a really fucked-up turn,” He turned to me, still chuckling: “She just like a picture on social media. Mate, seriously? You’re so melodramatic.”

“Oh fuck _off_ Ross!” I kicked him under the table but that just made him laugh harder which, in turn, fucking enraged me.

“You know what, you prick? Fuck off. Then keep on fucking off Ross. In fact, fuck _right on off_ until you come to a gate that says, ‘Do not fuck off past this point.’ But disobey authority. Rebel. Fight the system. Stick it to the man. Fuck Boris. Climb over that gate, dream the _impossible_ dream and fuck off into _INFINITY_ you absolute fucking minge,” I snapped (and then immediately took a deep breath because that was a long sentence).

The three of us just sat there in the aftermath of my outburst. Ross was rolling his eyes and Hann was giving me a look that suggested he was considering my mental stability. Ross’s phone started to vibrate on the table in front of us. We all looked down at the screen. The name ‘Waughy’ flashed up.

“Oh mate, you are _priceless_. This is too much. I just… I actually can’t. Peace out,” Ross chuckled as he picked up his phone, answered it cheerfully and wandered off to talk to Waughy.

“I _hate_ him,” I hissed, still angry at Ross for laughing at me.

“No you don’t. You love him and he loves you. I know both of you would die for each other without question. Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on with Becca or not?” said Hann.

I looked at him. Dear, sweet, forever patient Hann. Hann had a gentle, soothing aura, sort of like the energy a cow has. Just so calm and chilled out. Placid. Understanding.

“She liked my selfie on Instagram,” I grumbled.

“We’ve established that, yes,” said Hann and I gave him a withering look.

“But,” I continued, “She liked my selfie the other night. Which means that it was probably the middle of the day where she lives and that just…”

I was finding it hard to put what I was feeling into words.

“Yes?” Hann leaned forward in his seat.

“That just makes…” I frowned. The icy feeling in my chest was getting heavier – it had solidified. It was weighing me down like some kind of internal anchor. I hated it.

“It makes me sad Hann. It just makes me really said,” I said finally.

Hann gave me a surprised look.

“Out of all the things you could have said to me just then, I’m not going to lie – that was not what I was expecting,” he said and I groaned.

“I think I’m getting soft in my old age,” I shook my head.

“I think George has had more of an impact on you than you like to let on,” Hann gave me a small smile.

“Oh leave it out. Do you hear that? Someone’s trying to get a fellowship together. Better call Sexy Frodo,” I said sarcastically, getting all defensive, as I was wont to do when I was in my feels. (I was also still smarting over the fact that Ross had laughed at me. Dickhead.)

Despite himself, Hann chuckled.

“Hey, you can call her Sexy Frodo all you want mate. It doesn’t bother me – Hobbit in the streets, Shelob in the sheets,” he winked at me and I gasped in mock horror. Hann was never one for vulgar jokes.

“You little tart,” I smirked.

“You want another drink?” he asked, getting up.

“Go on then Gandalf,” I said.

Hann’s banter wasn’t enough to make me feel better though. I looked around the pub absentmindedly as Hann tried to get the bartender’s attention. The place was busy enough – there was rugby on.

Despite my best intentions, when left unattended I got weird again and it wasn’t long before my hand found my phone and I was back on Becca’s Insta profile.

I scrolled through the familiar pictures I had seen about a million times over the past few days. Endless photos of nature (trees and lakes and shit) and her puppy. But that was it.

I looked at my own profile then which offered a stark contrast – selfies, photos of me, Adam and Ross hugging, laughing, having fun. Dozens of pictures of wild nights out on the lash that I honestly didn’t even remember. A snap of my brother opening a PlayStation last Christmas that I was still fucking paying off but was worth it for the stupid grin on his face in the pictue. My parents’ dog. My mum. My dad. More friends.

Becca didn’t have any of this it would seem. All Becca really had was George and all George had had for so long was Becca.

And there it was: The blatant (and uncomfortable) truth.

I suddenly remembered what George had said the night I had come clean and told him about my messages to Becca:

_I know that what me and Becca have seems weird to people and I get that it’s a bit hard to understand. But she’s helped me so much... You don’t even know… She’s given me so much Matty._

The guilt hit me so hard it momentarily knocked the air from my lungs. I groaned as I realised something: I was an _asshole_. A right fucking prick, in fact.

I was ME. I could fuck _anyone_ I wanted – it was _easy_ for me. I was good at getting laid and making people fall in love with me, but George and Becca? All they really had was each other. In their own little way they had created a relationship (a fucking weird one, but a relationship nonetheless) and here I was trying to wreck that. Hann had been right when he had told me not to get involved.

I groaned louder this time and put my head into my hands. I really, truly was a shitty person. The self-loathing descended swiftly and without mercy.

“Alright?” Hann asked, arriving back with two drinks.

“Yeah, yes, I just need a smoke,” I said, quickly getting to my feet so Hann didn’t have the chance to see my face.

A smoke? What I needed was to be fucking _sedated._

I put my phone in the back pocket of my jeans, grabbed Ross’s discarded jacket and wrapped it around me. Then I headed out to the cold, welcome silence of the pub’s smoking area which was, thankfully, empty. I needed to think.

I smoked. I brooded some more. I thought about my shitty human status. And then, after much consideration, I grabbed my phone, went back on Instagram and composed a DM:

> **@trumanblack:** We need to talk  
>  **@trumanblack:** And none of this IM hiding-behind-a-screen bullshit. I need to speak to you properly.

I waited there in the cold for a quarter of an hour but she didn’t respond.

******


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hello my loves, I'm back with a super long chapter for you today. Thank you for all your lovely comments. It honestly makes me so happy that you're enjoying this fic - I love that you get my sense of humour. This chapter is brought to you by the fact that the week I start working on my next fic (in which George owns a bookshop (!!!!) and Matty is an artist) Matty kindly starts yammering on about his art on Instagram thus proving that I am in fact psychic. I have now decided that the reason George is MIA is because he's off opening this bookshop with Ross, just like I'm writing (literally can't wait for you to read this next one - coming soon!). But back to Talking to George, enjoy the chapter <3.

**Chapter 15**

The music was so loud it was giving me a right headache and there were way too many people crammed into the kitchen. The last thing I was in the mood for was a house party, but Hann and Ross had bullied me into going with them.

“It might cheer you up mate,” Hann had said.

Well consider me fucking _under-cheered_. I felt like I was stuck in hell.

Waughy was celebrating something, I couldn’t remember what, but he had pulled out all the stops to throw this party. The place was positively rammed with people I didn’t know. There was spliff, alcohol and other miscellaneous recreational drugs everywhere and someone had made actual fucking _canapes_. Outside, in the garden, someone had filled a paddling pool with ice and bottles of alcohol – vodka, beer, Prosecco – the works.

“Isn’t this amazing?” Drunk Ross was yelling into my ear. “I love Waughy!”

He clinked his bottle of beer against my glass of wine so hard I thought it was going to shatter.

“If you love him so much why don’t you marry him?” I snipped. I was still a bit fucked off after the way Ross had laughed at me the other night in the pub.

“Maybe I _should._ I could definitely do a lot worse than Waughy,” he said, his eyes widening as if he had never thought about it before.

“You could – Waughy’s fit,” I said, nodding towards Waughy who was standing across the kitchen chatting to a group of people.

“Waughy IS fit,” Ross said, nodding along. I raised an eyebrow at that.

“Would you take a cock up the arse for him though? That is the question,” I asked and Ross frowned as he thought about it.

“Who’s taking a cock up the arse?” Adam appeared beside me.

“Ross. He’s trying to decide if he would let Waughy fuck him,” I said and Adam gave us both a weird look.

Silence fell between the three of us and we all looked at Waughy as he laughed and joked and threw his beautiful hair over his shoulder (Note to self: check out his shampoo/conditioner situation the next time you need a piss). And then, obviously sensing that we were staring at him, he looked up, frowned and started making his way towards us.

“Nice one boys, that was subtle,” breathed Hann before meeting Waughy with a grin and an energetic: “Hi mate, how are you?”

“I’m good. Nice to see you Adam,” he said, pulling Hann into a one-armed hug.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, a small, polite smile on his face as he released Hann.

“Oh yeah, why do you ask?” said Adam, trying to act casual and failing miserably. Amateur.

“Well, you were all being a bit… _starey_ ,” Waughy’s eyes landed on me. He knew I was the weak link in this trio and probably the most likely to blurt out what was really going on. He was one hundred percent correct:

“We were trying to decide if Ross – ow, _fuck!_ ” I hissed as Ross gave me a dead leg.

“We were just talking about how great this party is,” Adam interjected while I let out a litany of swearwords and immediately started plotting my revenge against Ross. Guess whose toothbrush had a date with my scrotum as soon as I got home?

Hann’s lie seemed to appease Waughy who just smiled and then pretended someone was calling him so he could get the fuck away from us.

“Oh my god, you twat. You fucking house plant!” I narrowed my eyes at Ross as I frantically rubbed at my leg, trying to get the feeling back.

Ross was laughing because of course he was. Muppet.

“I need a spliff,” I said, now completely mugged off. I had to leave before my temper got the better of me and I did something stupid, like slap Ross.

I straightened up, drained my wineglass and hobbled out to the garden (grabbing an unattended bottle of wine from the kitchen as I went) before Ross could piss me off anymore. I just wanted to be alone.

I found a quiet little spot down the back of the garden, behind Waughy’s twee little greenhouse and lit up my zoot, immediately relaxing as I took a deep drag.

I took my phone out of my pocket. I responded to a text from my brother. I did a creep on Waughy’s Facebook page just out of curiosity and because I didn’t know him all that well (he was more Ross’s friend than mine) – photo of Waughy climbing some mountain, photo of him playing saxophone (nerd) and, _hello_ , photo of him topless and dousing himself in water after completing some kind of marathon. Not bad. But my heart, and unfortunately my cock, were both still hung up on George. I ran a hand down my face.

Fucking _George_. I hadn’t crossed his path since our fall-out but I knew he was still actually living with us and hadn’t moved out because Ross had given me an update the other day. Ross had apparently spotted George a few nights ago. Ross had gotten up at stupid o’clock for a piss and a glass of water and had noticed someone in the back garden having a smoke. George had, apparently, climbed up onto the kitchen extension roof after dithering in the garden for a few minutes.

“Think he was looking for you mate,” Ross had said. “I don’t think he’s as pissed off at you as you think.”

And I had just sniffed sadly into my Coco Pops because even if George didn’t hate me, he wasn’t exactly going out of his way to make me feel loved. So it honestly really didn’t matter if he was skulking around in the dead of night looking for me. George already knew where to find me and he hadn’t made any attempt to speak to me since he had smiled at me and told me to “Get out” of his room. And I didn’t want to cock up the situation even more by being the one to initiate a conversation, so here we were – stalemate.

I took a swig of wine and another hit of my spliff. I reflexively opened Instagram, wheezing when I noticed I had a DM. One thought shoved itself to the forefront of my mind: _It couldn’t be… could it?_

I took another mouthful of wine while I tried to think about things logically. I had messaged Becca days ago now and she hadn’t responded. Why would she suddenly change her mind?

Nevertheless, my hands were shaking slightly as I took a deep breath, opened my inbox and saw the now-familiar username: **Becca235.**

I opened the message, blinking when I realised there were no words, just a string of numbers. It took me a second to realise it was an American mobile phone number. _She had given me her phone number_.

Thank fuck I was already half-buzzed because fully sober Matty probably wouldn’t have the balls for the type of conversation that was about to take place. I quickly googled: _What time is it in Nevada right now?_ It was midnight GMT so it was, allegedly, circa four o’clock-ish in her part of the world.

Acting purely on the adrenaline that was now coursing through my body, I copied her number and pasted it into my phone. Then, before I could think too much about it, I hit call. I had no fucking idea what I was going to say to her. I didn’t have anything planned. I hoped that my mouth would just start producing amazing sentences when she picked up. _If_ she picked up that is.

She answered on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

Her voice was not what I had been expecting – mainly because a small part of me was full-on expecting a man and to confirm my suspicions that Becca was, in fact, a dirty old catfish. But this voice? This voice was soft, feminine, real – it belonged to an _actual person_. It was definitely not the voice of an 80-year-old pervert who just got a kick out of stringing handsome men in their thirties along.

My mind was slightly blown and I started choking unceremoniously before I could get any words out because I had been holding my breath (and simultaneously a load of spliff) in my lungs.

“Hello? Who’s there?” Edge of annoyance to that soft female voice now.

After another awkward coughing fit I managed to stop spluttering long enough to say:

“Hi Becca.”

My voice was hoarse but she recognised me immediately – it was probably the British twang that gave it away.

“Matthew,” she said curtly.

“Actually it’s Matty love if we’re going to do this properly,” I said, taking another hit of my spliff to calm me down and centre myself.

“Look, you’ll have to forgive me. It’s midnight here and I’m at Waughy’s. I’m a bit stoned, but I don’t want to fight with you alright?” The words came out in a rush but seemed to surprise her.

“Oh?” she said, voice softening slightly. “Who is Waughy?”

“Waughy is a mate. I think Ross might fuck him,” I said absentmindedly, the weed loosening me up more than was probably appropriate for this conversation.

“Oh… okay,” she said awkwardly.

“Not that we’re all in the habit of fucking each other or anything, but look, all I’m saying is I’ve had a question mark over Ross’s sexuality for about a decade now and I just want him to live his best life. Labels are fucking stupid like – they don’t _mean_ anything, they just trap people into these confining little boxes. How can we expect to progress as a society when we can’t even let people love who they want. It’s a bloody shame is what it is, innit?” I rambled.

Becca was silent.

I shook my head – I was getting distracted here. I needed to focus.

“I know this is weird, but I figured we needed to talk to each other properly. I am…” I sighed and looked around me. “I’m sorry about being a twat.”

As soon as I said it, I started to feel self-conscious and oddly emotional.

She didn’t say anything, so I just continued on:

“Look, Becca love, it’s come to my attention in recent days that I should have just left you and George to it. I don’t claim to understand what it is you both have together but…” — Deep sigh here. This was fucking _hard_ — “But it makes George happy. And George deserves to be happy. I _only_ want George to be happy… even if it’s not with me.”

Who was I? Who was this _me_ that was sitting here, on the damp ground, being all mature? I didn’t know him. I ran a hand down my face again.

“Just look after him alright? George is a precious, angelic, pure human being. He acts all tough but he’s not really. He’s really insecure and thinks he’s a bit boring and a bit shit, but he’s not any of those things. _Fuck_ …” My eyes were stinging.

Was this really it? Was I actually going to bare my soul to Becca, the random woman in America who very well could still be a catfish for all I knew? Oh my _god_. I just needed to sort my fucking life out.

“Anyway love, long story short,” — I cleared my throat, trying to get myself together enough to finish this hellish conversation —“Basically, what I’m trying to convey to you is that I am bowing out. You can have at it with Georgie, but if you hurt him I _will_ come to Nevada and I won’t kick your arse because you’re not a man and I actually cherish women and identify as a feminist, but I _will_ sit you down and make you listen to me as I tell you what a shit person you are.”

Silence fell between us. Somewhere behind me, a random drunk person fell into the paddling pool full of ice and alcohol and everybody cheered. And then, Becca said softly:

“You’re a good friend Matty.”

And she ended the call.

I sat there in the dark on my own, behind Waughy’s greenhouse and for the first time in my entire life, I felt like I was a proper adult.

Spoiler alert: I hated it.

******

“You’ll never guess what I did last night,” I said, padding my way into the living room in my socks the next morning.

Hann was sprawled on the sofa, clutching a mug of tea like it was the Holy Grail. _Someone_ had drank a little too much last night ( _someone_ had also attempted a booty call with a certain Sexy Hobbit in the taxi on the way home and had to have his phone wrestled out of his hands because there was _no fucking way_ I was taking a taxi all the way to the opposite end of the city at 3am just so Hann could have a shag).

“You’ll never guess what Ross did last night,” Adam smirked at me as I sat down on the coffee table in front of him.

I looked around the living room. It suddenly dawned on me that Ross wasn’t in his usual spot. I put two and two together.

“ _No…_ ” I breathed and Adam grinned and nodded his head.

“Ross and Waughy?! I’m not going to lie to you Hann… I sort of ship it,” I said. “When? How? I have so many questions!”

“When you were out in the garden getting sad drunk by yourself love. Ross was so hammered he literally asked Waughy what it felt like to take a cock up the arse and Waughy, smooth as ever, responded with, ‘Why don’t I show you?’”

My mouth fell open and Hann started laughing.

“They disappeared together after that and I haven’t seen or heard from Ross since.”

“Oh my _god_. I just assumed he had gone home with some bird. This is the greatest thing I have ever heard in my entire life!” I clapped my hands together, thoroughly amused by this latest plot twist.

Fucking Ross. I was… weirdly impressed that he had managed to score with Waughy.

I grabbed my phone and went straight into our group chat.

> **Matty:** Is Waughy okay Ross? I heard he slipped and his cock fell right into your arse at the party last night.

“Mature,” said Hann when I showed him my screen.

“Well, dirty jokes are the highest form of wit and intelligence – Oscar Wilde said that,” I said.

“Pretty sure he didn’t,” said Hann.

My phone vibrated approximately one minute later. Ross had replied.

> **Ross:** No comment, but I just want you to know that I am fully secure in my sexuality Matthew. Your jokes are pointless and I shan’t be speaking on the events of last night – it’s a very ungentlemanly thing to do.

I couldn’t argue with that.

> **Matty:** Fully understand good sir. I salute you and I’m happy for you. Tell Waughy I said hello. Love you mate x.  
>  **Ross:** He’s making me pancakes for breakfast. Ily too x.

I smiled as I put my phone back into my pocket.

“So Ross and Waughy have shacked up, I have an ungodly hangover but what happened to you last night? Why were you getting sad drunk in the garden all on your lonesome?” Hann asked, taking a sip of his tea.

“I called Becca,” I said casually.

“Wait… **BECCA** Becca? _George’s_ Becca?!” Hann was half-choking on his tea.

“The one and only,” I said while Hann absorbed this information.

“How did you manage that?”

“I messaged her and said we needed to talk and that I wanted to talk properly. So she sent me her number and I called her last night,” I shrugged.

Hann immediately opened his mouth to ask a question, but I knew what he was going to say:

“Before you ask, yes, she is an actual real-life human woman as opposed to just a concept. I was shocked too. I couldn’t get a handle on her age, but she didn’t sound like an 80-year-old pervert. She might still be a catfish, but she’s not a geriatric one,” I said.

“What _happened?_ What did you say to her? Tell me everything!” Hann’s eyes were wide.

I sighed.

“I apologised for getting involved with her and George. I told her that I felt awful about it and that I was officially bowing out.”

Hann looked like he was about to have an aneurysm.

“ _You_ apologised?!”

“I know,” I let out a bitter laugh and pointed at myself, “Emotional growth mate.”

“I can see that,” said Hann. He fell silent – clearly shell-shocked by the fact that I would actually apologise to someone – and do it willingly, at that.

“Mate say something,” I poked him with my foot. “You’re usually my barometer of moral good standing.”

“I know, I’m just shocked…” Hann shook his head. “I am wildly impressed by your character redemption arc.”

“Oh fuck off,” I said and he smiled.

“What does this mean?” He asked then, getting all serious. “You and George are kaput?”

I drew a finger across my neck to indicate that, yes, George and I were dead in the water. Granted George had never officially _said_ that we were, but given the way he had reacted to me telling Becca to fuck off and given the small matter that he wasn’t speaking to me, I had come to the regretful conclusion that I had just been a fling for Georgie boy. He had homosexual urges. I had helped him to figure out that he was into men as well as women. Look at me out here doing my bit for the sexual liberation movement. The Queen really should give me an MBE for my invaluable service.

“So what now?” Hann asked.

I looked up at him. The icy feeling in my chest had disappeared since I had spoken to Becca, but it had now been replaced by something worse: acute misery. Not a good vibe.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m going to have to find some way of just getting over it and moving on… although that’s going to be really fucking hard what with George walking around being so fucking _gorgeous_ all the time,” I rolled my eyes.

I suddenly felt desperately sad and it must have shown on my face because Hann put down his mug of tea, shifted himself into a seated position and made room for me on the sofa beside him.

“Come here poppet,” he said, opening his arms. And because I was feeling super sorry for myself, I got up, plopped myself down on the sofa beside him and let him wrap me in a hug.

“I really like him Hann,” I said, my voice betraying me – it was all laden-down with emotion. Fuck’s sake.

“I know mate,” said Hann, who just hugged me tighter.

******

We didn’t see Ross for the next week of our lives and just when we were about to send out a search party, he arrived home out of the blue one evening. He flew into the house like a fucking hurricane, all noise and movement. Hann and I were sharing a spliff in the kitchen and trying to decide what kind of takeaway would go best with our munchies. George was, of course, nowhere to be found. It was like he had just disappeared into thin air.

In fact, by this stage I had no idea if George was even still alive, although Hann assured me that he was. The only clue to suggest that George wasn’t actually a figment of my imagination was the fact that his beat-up car was still parked outside the house. Ever since I had seen that stupid car, I couldn’t unsee it. Every time I left the house it was an ugly visual reminder of the fact that George still existed and was _actively choosing_ not to speak to me. It was grim.

As well as keeping me up to date on George’s aliveness, Hann had also delivered some particularly depressing news to me earlier that day. He had arrived into my coffin just after lunch with a cup of tea and a packet of the chocolate biscuits that I loved. He was also holding one of his delectable spliffs that had been rolled with the kind of precision only a pharmacist would have.

I had eyed him suspiciously as he set the offering of tea and biscuits in front of me silently, sparked up the spliff and proceeded to pretty much wedge it into my mouth.

“I have something to tell you,” he had declared as I coughed at the surprise weed making its way into my lungs.

Hann had a weird energy radiating off him. His eyes kept looking everywhere except at me. They eventually landed on Pete’s discarded disco ball. Loathe and all as I was to admit it, I was missing the stupid little fucker. Talking to myself was just sad. But talking to myself while also addressing Pete? That made me feel a lot better about my life.

“What is it?” I frowned, taking another drag from the spliff. It was a perfect joint. Pristine. Immaculate. The ratio of weed was superb.

I offered the spliff to Hann who turned it down with a quick gesture of his hand. I frowned again. Whatever he had to tell me he wanted me to be high for it. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach as I realised what he was doing: He was trying to soften whatever blow was about to land on me.

“Matty, mate… I don’t know how to tell you this, but I… I know where Pete is,” he said quietly.

Adam’s voice had been so low it took a second for this information to register with my brain. After a few seconds of stunned silence it landed:

“ **WHAT?** ” I sat up straight on the bed and ripped the spliff out of my mouth. “WHERE?!”

Adam shifted uncomfortably.

“Where Hann?” I demanded, my voice coming out angrier than I wanted it to.

“He’s… shit. He’s in George’s room,” said Hann, hastening to add: “Well, at least we _think_ it’s him. He just appeared in there last night.”

“That **BASTARD!** ” I slammed my fist against the mattress.

Hann had looked at me unsure whether I was speaking about George or Pete.

“I can’t believe this. For fuck’s sake! Even Pete is fucking me over. Fucking **PETER**. Hann?!” I had looked up at Hann all sad and tortured who, thankfully, had the good sense to put the spliff back into my mouth so I didn’t do something stupid like barge into George’s room, demanding custody of my spider.

Hann had ensured that I was kept occupied for the rest of the day with a mixture of spliff, television and inane ‘Would you rather?’ questions: Would you rather have eyebrows for lips or lips for eyebrows? Would you rather not have sex for an entire year or have sex every day but never orgasm? And, continuing with our love of polite, British property shows, would you rather fuck Kirstie or Phil? (Tough choice).

I knew Hann was just trying to distract me from how shitty I felt, but I was grateful for it. It was nice to have someone actively trying to get me out of my own head. If I had been left to my own devices, who knows what I would have done? I imagine a crazed spider-knapping would have featured quite prominently in my actions along with copious amounts of wine.

But anyway, there we were in the kitchen, Hann and I pouring over takeaway menus when Ross barged in all excited.

“I have some AMAZING news!”

Ross’s face was completely lit up as he shrugged off his jacket, not bothering to say hello or even address the fact that he had been missing for an entire week.

“Let me guess – you found your prostate?” Hann quipped, giving me a smirk. He was trying to make me laugh.

Ross gave Hann a withering look.

“Oh _hilarious_ Adam. Pure fucking comedic genius,” he said and then his eyes landed on me: “Well? Let’s hear it then.”

I just shrugged.

“What? No more hole-related jokes? No horticultural insults?”

Ross walked over to the kitchen table where I was sitting and eyed me suspiciously.

“I got nothing mate,” I said, shrugging again as I took another hit of the spliff.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Ross turned to Hann, an expression of confusion on his face.

Hann just held up his hands in a ‘don’t look at me’ gesture.

“ _Okay…_ ” Ross gave me a weird look and then shook his head, dismissing my uncharacteristic behaviour. “Anyway, back to my good news. James has offered me formal representation!”

“Nice one mate,” said Hann. I watched as he grabbed Ross into a hug. “Fantastic news!”

James was the literary agent I had sent that shockingly rude email to on Ross’s behalf just before our house party. Ross had met up with him since then and while James had been interested in his writing, he had also suggested a few manuscript changes. This had been a massive bruise to Ross’s ego, but eventually Hann (forever the voice of reason in 36C) had talked Ross into making the changes and now here we were – Ross had an agent. An _actual_ agent who was, hopefully, going to shill him out to an amazing publisher and get him a lucrative book deal.

“It’s all coming up Ross!” Ross yelled happily, releasing Hann and pumping his fist in the air in victory.

“And here I was thinking Waughy was the only one allowed to do that,” I gave Ross a mischievous wink as I slid off the kitchen table.

“Ah and he speaks,” Ross pulled me into a bear hug.

“Well done mate. If anyone deserves this, it’s you. I mean we all know how much time you spent procrastinating over that manuscript,” I said, squeezing Ross tightly. And then, because it’s me and Ross, as I went to release him, he fucking rugby tackled me and flung me over his shoulder.

“Let me down you fucking arsehole!” I screamed as Ross cackled like a maniac and twirled me around.

“Ross!” I thumped his back, causing Ross to rather unceremoniously dump me onto the kitchen floor.

“Will you still be this much of a prick when you’re a bestseller?” I glared at him as I rubbed my arse which would most definitely be bruised in the morning.

“You think I’m going to be a bestseller?” Ross just grinned at me as he ignored my insult.

While Ross and Hann were in the mood to celebrate, I just wanted to be alone. After dinner I poured myself a very generous glass of red wine and headed upstairs to prep myself for the inevitable sad boy hours that would arrive in a bit. I just wanted my bed and stupid internet memes and to lay on my back and stare at my ceiling while contemplating how shit everything was… you know, the usual.

My sadness over what had happened between George and I was getting heavier and heavier and I was fucked off that one stupid person (I had now decided that George was stupid as a self-defence mechanism) could affect my emotions so much. I always thought that when you found the person you willingly wanted to commit to, life was all fucking roses and rainbows and amazing sex. But this? This was none of those things and, quite frankly, if this was what monogamy looked like then no fucking thank you.

I drank my wine. I watched some cat videos on YouTube and then I wrapped myself up in my duvet like a depressed burrito and willed myself to fall asleep as Ross and Hann’s laughter got louder and louder in the kitchen the more they drank.

*****

I slept but I didn’t _sleep_ sleep. By that I mean that I tossed and turned so much I still felt fucking _shattered_ by the time I jerked awake the next morning. I had been having one of those dreams where it feels like you’re falling. I was also busting for a piss. I rolled over onto my side, wrapping myself up tightly in my duvet and willing the urge to use the bathroom to just disappear so I could try and go back to sleep, but it didn’t work.

“For fuck’s sake,” I groaned, eventually giving up and forcing myself to get up.

I padded out into the hall in my bare feet and boxers, shivering at the sudden change in temperature and blinking blearily-eyed at my surroundings.

“I see hell must have frozen over making it easy for you to climb out of its depths so early in the morning.”

I rolled my eyes at Ross who was coming up the stairs as I made my way to the bathroom. I paused at the top of the stairs and slung myself over the bannister dramatically.

“Too early,” I groaned.

“How did you cope when you had to get up for school?” Ross poked me in the side and I slapped his hand away.

“Not well. Congratulations again by the way. I hope you and Hann celebrated accordingly last night,” I said, waking up a bit more the colder I got. I rubbed my arms to try and warm myself up.

“It was a relatively tame affair,” said Ross, tugging at his tie. He was obviously getting ready to head off to work.

“Well obviously. I wasn’t there to incite debauchery love,” I winked at him and he chuckled.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be? Oh that’s right, you’re unemployed. Again,” Ross teased.

“Starting on the job thing already? Oh ouch, right in the feels mate,” I feigned hurt and placed my hand over my heart while Ross laughed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m busting for a piss. Believe it or not there are zero facilities to be found when you’re clawing your way out of hell.”

I was just about to continue to the upstairs bathroom (which was just at the top of the stairs) when the door suddenly opened and who should appear but George. Fucking _George_. At this hour. _Wonderful._

All banter between myself and Ross immediately died as George and I just stared at each other in complete disbelief, like we were both surprised to see each other in the house we both lived in. He was so beautiful, I was completely dazzled by him. I felt like he was emitting a bright, white light that only I could see. I _hated_ that he was still just as glorious looking and I also hated that I was completely dumbstruck by his unexpected appearance in my life. He was just so pure, so angelic, so…

“Morning G,” Ross eventually broke the uncomfortable silence that had descended and George tore his eyes away from my own. We both looked at Ross (truthfully I had totally forgotten that Ross was even standing there beside me).

“Nice day?” Ross frowned, obviously not knowing what else to say.

George shook himself, as if waking up from a spell, and then mumbled a quiet “Good morning” and slipped between myself and Ross at the top of the stairs so quickly, I didn’t even have the chance to register his movements.

I had only just managed to close my mouth and shoot a confused look at Ross when I heard the front door close and just like that, George had disappeared again.

I let out a long, low sigh. My first time seeing George since our fight and I didn’t even get a hello? Fucking nice one. _Jesus._

“Well, that wasn’t awkward at all. Fucking hell,” Ross mumbled, running a hand through his hair while I just stood there in my boxers like a twat.

I was suddenly icy cold. It felt like George had taken any remaining bit of warmth out of the house with him as he left. So not only was he stealing my fucking pet spider, now he was also stealing my body heat. Prick.

“So is this what it’s going to be like now?” Ross asked, studying my expression and not-so-subtly trying to get a read on me.

I genuinely didn’t have an answer to that question so I just shrugged and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and positively fucking _hating_ the fact that all I could smell was George’s aftershave lingering in the air.

I didn’t want to be around Ross or Hann and their sympathetic looks, so once I had finished in the loo, I padded back to my coffin and got back into bed, pulling my duvet over my head so I could just pretend that the world (and therefore George) did not exist.

What the actual _fuck_ was that on the stairs? I understood that George was an introvert and a bit weird when it came to people. I totally accepted that George hadn’t been there the day they were handing out people skills and as a result was a bit awkward, but seriously? _Seriously_? Was this really how things were going to be now?

To be fully honest, I wasn’t really sure what I expected to happen. All I knew was that George and I had crossed boundaries that now ensured we could never be ‘just friends’. It would always be awkward now that I knew what his cock looked like. I also still wanted him like crazy, so that wasn’t exactly conductive to a healthy platonic male relationship. I sighed sadly.

I spend the next two hours driving myself crazy overthinking things (as I tended to do) and it all got me nowhere except to one horrible thought: I couldn’t stay here.

I couldn’t stay in 36C if it meant having to see George all the time – especially if things were going to continue on the way they currently were. Yeah, George had been avoiding me with a sneak level of 1,000 but how much longer could he really keep that up in such a small house? And how would I react if, for whatever reason, Becca decided to pay a visit and the two of them shacked up together downstairs? My head wanted to explode at the thoughts of it.

If only I hadn’t sent those fucking messages. If only I had taken Ross’s advice and not shat where I ate like he warned me not to do all those moons ago. Jesus, times were truly fucking dire if Ross had given me sound life advice. _Ugggh._

More time passed. I just stayed in bed, only leaving my depression cocoon to go to the bathroom. At some point I must have fallen asleep because I was woken up hours later by my phone vibrating next to my head.

I groaned and grabbed the phone, cursing as my body protested at the movement. I was so stiff and sore from lying around all day. I squinted at the light from my phone screen. I had some messages from the boys:

> **Hann:** U okay hun? 🥺  
>  **Ross:** I will kick his arse for you mate if you want me to. Just say the word.  
>  **Ross:** Lanky prick 🤬

And then some messages from Hann sent in the last few minutes:

> **Hann:** Honey, I’m home!  
>  **Hann:** Made some dinner for you. Come down for some food? 🥺  
>  **Hann:** Or I can bring it up to you.  
>  **Hann:** You need to eat something.  
>  **Hann:** And before you say it, a bowl of Coco Pops and a spliff is not considered a balanced meal.

Despite myself I smiled at that last one. Precious Hann. Always taking care of me. I wrote a response:

> **Matty:** Alright. I’m coming down. But no one is allowed to ask me if I’m okay.  
>  **Hann:** Us? Ask about your welfare? We wouldn’t dream of it 🤐  
>  **Hann:** Disregard the above messages. From now on we don’t care if you live or die.  
>  **Matty:** Perfect, thanks love❤️

I pulled myself up into a sitting position and rubbed my neck. Why did your body just turn to shit as soon as you hit your thirties? I swear to god. I suddenly felt my age for the first time in my life and I didn’t like it. I sat for a few minutes, contemplating whether to get dressed or whether to have a spliff first just to take the edge off things. I switched on the lamp beside my bed and then I saw it: a slip of paper resting just in front of my door.

My heart leapt in my chest and I suddenly felt a bit sick, but neither of these things stopped me from diving at the piece of paper and snatching it up into my hands.

It was, as expected, a note. It was short and lacking any kind of emotion/personality, but I knew the handwriting immediately:

> _Got you a gig. A rep from a new label will be there checking out acts. 9pm Thursday @ Dominion – G._

A scrawled postscript note included a phone number and the instruction for me to call someone named Hugo and tell them I was "a friend of G’s."

I sat back onto the floor stunned and with no idea of how I was supposed to react.

******


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Happy Friday my loves! Hope you're all doing okay. I have another long chapter for you this week. This chapter was actually waaay longer but I chopped it in two. So we officially have TWO chapters left in this fic (I CAN'T. BELIEVE. we're almost finished. Sad face!). Anyway, shout out to my job for being so boring I just write all day. Thanks as always for your lovely comments and kudos and everything else. You're the best. I'll try and get the next chapter out a bit earlier than usual. Enjoy!

**Chapter 16**

I didn’t know what to do about the note, so for the first twenty-four hours I just pretended that it didn’t exist. After that point in time, I started to feel all uneasy and weird about it and then started to overthink it way too much. My anxiety was on fleek.

I was sitting in the living room having a brew and reading the stupid note for what felt like the millionth time when Ross wandered in.

“What you reading?” he eyed me suspiciously. “I haven’t seen you concentrate this hard since you were failing your GCSEs.”

I sighed and glanced up at him.

“School examinations are a complete waste of time. I didn’t _fail_ them, I just didn’t study as an act of resistance against an oppressive regime that tries to fit us all into these stupid boxes. I am more than my GCSE results. So are you. Who’s to say that just because you fail your GCSEs you’re stupid? A lot of people don’t do well in exam-based environments,” I said.

Ross rolled his eyes and then tried to grab the note. I whipped my hand out of his reach.

“Fuck off Ross,” I said reflexively, the words just coming out of my mouth as naturally as breathing.

I furrowed my brows and read the note again. _Got you a gig –_ What did it MEAN?

“You look like a constipated penguin, what is it?” Ross asked again. Ross was so nosy. If there was anything happening, he always had to be involved.

“It’s none of your concern, fuck _offf_ ,” I said, quickly pressing the note against my chest when he tried to lean over me and read it.

“Why won’t you let me see it?”

“Because it’s private you bell end!” I snapped, getting irritated now.

“We don’t have privacy in this house. It’s something bad isn’t it?” Ross frowned.

“No,” I waved my hand at him dismissively. “Go away.”

“It _is_ bad, that’s why you won’t let me see it.”

“Fuck off Ross,” I slid down the sofa, trying to get away from him but he just followed me.

“You’re so touchy,” he laughed. He reached out and ruffled my hair which flat out #triggered me.

“ **FUCK. OFF.** ” I thumped his leg and he cursed loudly.

“You prick!” he yelled.

“No, **YOU** prick!” I yelled back.

We both glared at each other. His eyes followed me as I stood up.

“Don’t. Seriously. I’m warning you,” I said, my voice low with threat, as Ross purposely got in my way.

“Or what? What are you actually going to do?” He reached out and prodded my shoulder. He was baiting me and I was in NO mood for this faux sibling bullshit. Not today.

“Touch me again and you will be able to fucking **TASTE** what’s on this bit of paper because I will have shoved it so far up your **ARSE** it’ll be in your mouth,” I threatened.

I moved to walk past him again but he stopped me and tried to snatch the note out of my hand and that is when I fucking lost it. I grabbed Ross into a headlock and chaos ensued.

Ross started yelling and elbowed me in the stomach, making me release him as I doubled over, completely winded. He shoved my arse and I fell over, reaching out and grabbing the leg of his jeans as I did so and pulling him down on top of me. He kept trying to grab the note out of my hands as we screamed curse words and hit each other.

I finally managed to wriggle out of his stupid clutches, my note-bearing hand stuck up in the air as I shuffled backwards on my arse, kicking at Ross’s hands as he tried to grab me unsuccessfully.

“Hah! Fuck you Ross! Fuck you and fuck your mum!” I yelled. (I didn’t really mean that though, Ross’s mum was a lovely woman who always tried to feed me every time she saw me. But nothing enraged Ross more than being mean about his mum).

I was just about to start singing _We Are the Champions_ to piss Ross off even further when the note disappeared from my hand with a “Yoink!” courtesy of Hann who had been standing in the doorway watching us kick the shit out of each other for the past five minutes.

“Give it back Hann,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. I wasn’t above flooring Hann if I had to. I didn’t want to, but I’d do it if I had to.

“What even is this?” said Hann, peering at the note as he walked into the living room properly.

Ross watched Adam’s face, trying to gauge his reaction as I scrambled towards Adam’s feet in the hopes of taking him down, but it was too late – Hann’s eyes snapped up towards me.

“What is it?!” Ross yelled.

“Holy shit, _is this from George?_ ” Hann hissed and before I had the chance to respond, he ran out into the hall to make sure George wasn’t around.

He reappeared a few seconds later.

“Oh my god! What are you going to do?” he asked, voice louder now – the coast was obviously clear – as he came back into the living room.

“I have no fucking privacy in this house, I swear,” I grumbled.

I got to my feet, made my way towards Adam and snatched the note out of his hand.

“What are you going to do?” Hann asked again.

“I’m going to fucking shred it and stop thinking about it,” I said, mugged off as I shoved the piece of paper into the back pocket of my jeans.

“Matty, mate, come on,” Hann was trying to use his coaxing voice, but I held up my hand and he fell silent.

“If George wanted to help me. If he _truly_ wanted to help me or amend things, he should have told me about this face to face like an actual human. He also should have fucking said, I don’t know, hello to me the other morning instead of pretending that I didn’t exist,” I said.

“What does it say?” Ross asked again.

“George got me a gig at some club. Some record label rep is going to be there, alright? Happy now?” I snapped.

“Very,” Ross grinned and I gave him a dirty look.

“Please tell me you’re going to take that golden opportunity?” Ross continued, ignoring the glare I was throwing at him.

“Why should I?” I was seething. Fucking stupid George and his stupid musical connections and his stupid fucking beautiful face and his amazing cock and weird laugh that I missed. _Dickhead._

“Because this could be it for you,” said Hann as Ross took out his phone, clearly bored by the conversation and more interested in texting Waughy.

I shifted my glare to Hann now because Ross’s eyes were glued to his phone and I wasn’t about to waste a perfectly good glare.

“Just think about it mate. You know we love your tunes and think you’re talented – incredibly so. All you need is to get in front of the right person and, no offence, but you haven’t been able to do it by yourself… I know things with you and G are shit right now, but don’t throw away an amazing opportunity just because you’re fucked off at George,” said Hann.

Silence fell while I pondered what Hann was saying. But I was too stubborn. The fact of the matter was George couldn’t just ignore me for weeks and then try to make everything all better by getting a gig for me. It didn’t work like that. At least not in my head anyway.

“Matty… mate?” Hann’s tentative voice. “Are you going to do the gig?”

I crossed my arms and was just about to say no and go off on a rant about how Hann wouldn’t get how important it was for me to make my own way as an artist when Ross piped up:

“Of course he is. I just texted Hugo from the note. You’re good to go. Gave him your mobile number as well – he’ll call you tomorrow.”

I spun round. Ross was sitting on the floor, note in one hand, phone in the other. The fucker had taken the note out of my pocket while I was distracted by Hann.

“Matty?” Hann’s voice, worried.

Ross started to say something then but I’m pretty sure I went into a rage blackout because I don’t even remember closing the distance between myself and Ross. The only thing I remember is punching him full force in the face.

An hour and a half later we were all sitting in the kitchen. There was a mug of tea in front of me but it had long since gone cold. Hann was holding a bag of frozen broccoli against Ross’s left eye and I had my right hand buried under a bag of frozen oven chips. My hand was (after careful inspection from Hann) thankfully not broken, just badly bruised. Ross looked like he had got into an altercation with a lamppost.

For the past twenty minutes Hann had been giving me his ‘I am so disappointed in you’ face and I was starting to buckle under the weight of it.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I tapped my foot against the leg of the kitchen table. I sighed. I frowned. I chewed on my bottom lip and then finally, I grumbled out an apology:

“Sorry I fucked up your face,” I said and Ross looked at me.

“S’alright,” he said, the end of his sentence turning into a hiss as Hann removed the bag of broccoli. “I’m sorry I tried to help your career.”

“To be fair, I helped your career first so I guess we’re sort of even now,” I said, taking the bag of chips off my hand and wincing as I saw my swollen knuckles.

“True, but at least I didn’t punch you in the face,” Ross gingerly touched at his eye and hissed again. “Fucking hell mate, where did that even come from? You look like an actual noodle – I didn’t think you had that much strength in your arms.”

“I’m stronger than I look. Especially when provoked,” I said, narrowing my eyes as a warning.

“So now that we’ve all calmed down,” said Hann, giving me a pointed look, “What’s the vibe?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Well the vibe is I’m going to go and do the stupid gig innit? I can’t let them down now that Ross officially booked me,” I said. Adam smiled:

“I think that is an excellent call.”

“Yeah, well you two dickheads better be there to support me. And I’m refusing to deal with George if he’s there. I’m not approaching him first,” I said and Adam nodded again.

“No George, got it.”

“I can’t believe you hit me,” Ross grumbled.

“I can’t believe I wasted my first proper punch on you,” I gave Ross a dirty look. It was true – I had never properly hit someone before. I was always more of a lover than a fighter. Yeah, I had gotten into scraps when I was younger, but I had never flat-out decked someone before. I was oddly impressed by how hard I had managed to hit Ross. I didn’t know I had it in me either to be honest.

“Is it weird that I took your punch virginity?” Ross shot me a smirk.

“What’s fucking weird is that you just called it ‘punch virginity’,” I grimaced and Hann stifled a laugh.

Ross stuck out his tongue.

“Right, the gig is in two days. I guess I better go make some important life decisions,” I got to my feet, pushing my chair back with a scrape as I did so.

“Are you going to decide what to play?” Hann asked and I scoffed.

“Eh no Hann, don’t be an idiot. I need to decide what I’m going to _wear_.”

******

The cold night air stung my skin and I pulled my jacket tighter around me to brace myself against the chill. It was the night of the gig and I was standing in the car park at the back of the venue, chain smoking to calm my nerves.

I had been fine until we had gotten there and I had realised that this was an _actual_ gig. As in a proper one. Never mind the fact that there was a label rep here somewhere, there was an actual _audience_ here. Wild. I wasn’t used to performing in front of this many people. But, as Hann said when he saw my freaked-out expression on arrival, it was something I’d hopefully have to get used to after tonight.

As soon as I had seen the amount of people packed in to the venue, I had immediately shoved my guitar at Hann and Ross and ran away to the nearest emergency exit to try and collect myself. Showbiz, baby (insert jazz hands here).

Tonight was big for me. I was aware of it. Tonight had also all been put into place by George.

_Ugh, George._

George who would never talk to me again from the looks of things. Sigh. How tragic. And as I stood there, chain smoking in the car park, I remembered that night in Sin when I had seen his car for the first time and all the subsequent events that had transpired since then. _Fuck_.

I missed him. I did. And a pathetic part of me was hoping he’d show up tonight, especially seeing as how this was entirely his doing. But the other part of me (the proud, stubborn part) would never tell anyone that. Least of all George himself. Obviously. I had an image to maintain. Besides, George didn’t care. He had fucked me off by ignoring me. What was it Ross had called him? Oh yeah – lanky prick.

But time to think about more important things, like this gig.

I took a long drag of my smoke, hopping slightly from foot to foot to try and keep warm, as I played a game that I only played when I was anxious. I pondered what the worst case scenario from tonight would be. The worst case scenario would be if I tripped getting up on the stage. Or if I looked out into the audience and saw every single person I had ever fucked just standing there judging me. Or, Christ, the total worst case scenario would be if _George_ was standing in the front row judging me. I shook my head. Perish the thought.

I was just about to have an imaginary conversation/argument with George in my head when the emergency exit behind me opened and I heard Ross:

“There you are. Fuck’s sake. You’ve been moved up. Hugo is intense. He needs you inside now – he threatened to kick me up the arse if I didn’t have you ready to go on stage in the next five minutes.”

“Maybe I should purposely take my time then. Might make for a good opener to my set – you getting kicked up the arse live on stage,” I said.

“Get the fuck inside,” snapped Ross. He grabbed the scruff of my jacket and practically hauled me back into the club.

Hann was waiting anxiously by the side of the stage with my guitar. He had taken it out of its case and tuned it and all for me. Legend.

“Are you ready?” he asked, as he slung the guitar strap over my head, adding a: “So we’re keeping the sunglasses?” along with his signature raised eyebrow.

I was dressed all in black, as per usual. The Ray-Bans perched on my head were mostly just there for decoration (the truth was it had been sunny earlier in the day and I had totally forgotten about them until the moment Hann had mentioned them).

“It’s called fashion sweetie, look it up,” I quipped and Hann rolled his eyes.

“Has there been any sign?” I asked then. Hann knew that I was asking about George without me having to say it. We had been friends for so long, we were symbiotic now.

“Nothing mate,” he said shaking his head and I nodded.

No sign was good. No sign meant that nothing could fuck up this performance. The worst possible thing would be if George appeared in the crowd like a fucking apparition while I was trying to focus on my tunes.

The applause of the crowd brought me back to the present moment. Hugo was on stage ushering the previous act off. I took a deep breath as he started introducing me.

“Best of luck, break a leg – wait, fuck, is that what you’re supposed to say to a musician?” asked Hann, suddenly in peak ‘stage mum’ mode. We were sort of like his kids, Ross and I. Hann loved to see us doing well, it made him feel achieved. Bless him.

“Fuck you Matty,” said Ross, clapping me on the back cheerfully. The fact that I was the one responsible for the shiner on his face long since forgotten.

Despite myself I laughed.

“Fuck you too mate,” I gave him a wink as my name was called out and I hopped up onto the stage. Show time.

I had a three-song set which would hopefully impress not only the audience, but also the as-yet-unknown mysterious record label rep and after much deliberation, I had chosen a cover and two original songs. The cover – a sexy version of _Thank U, Next_ by Ariana Grande – would hopefully get the audience on my side before I launched into two original songs. Both of which were, as Hann continually reminded me, a “bit fucking emo mate” but I _was_ emo and I didn’t want to pretend to be someone I wasn’t just for some snooty label rep. Good music was all about being authentic, wasn’t it?

As the polite applause from the crowd died down, I took a deep breath and threw myself into the cover. You always knew how these things were going to go based on the first three seconds. Thankfully I was greeted by cheers instead of deafening silence as people recognised the song. This allowed me to immediately relax and some of my nerves dissipated. I actually started to enjoy myself. I bobbed to the music, encouraging the audience to sing the bits they knew and I couldn’t help the fizzy sense of joy that was taking me over as the song finished and they cheered.

I was fucking born to do this. I just was. This was all I wanted in my life. Nothing would ever beat the feeling that being on stage gave me. Suddenly all those crappy gigs in my past seemed worth it because they had led me to this moment. I briefly thought about the horrible nights when I had played to, like, two people. All of it had brought me here. Feels.

“Well now, this is nice innit?” I said to the crowd, taking my time tuning my guitar for my next song. The lights were turned up way too high and my eyesight was atrocious, so I was squinting trying to see my pegs.

Ross shouted my name somewhere to my left and I laughed.

“My number one fans are here tonight,” I said. “It’s funny because normally they just tell me to shut the fuck up.”

Laughter and some applause from the crowd.

“I’m going to put these sunglasses on now, not because I think I’m a rockstar but for practical reasons because these lights are fucking blinding me,” I said, pushing the Ray-Bans that were resting on my head down over my eyes.

Someone yelled “Legend!” and I laughed.

“Alright, alright. Calm down love. Settle petal. Let’s do this,” I said and started singing again.

Thankfully whoever was on lights got the memo they were burning my retinas by the time my second song was finished, so I was able to lose the shades for my final song. I was in my absolute element, crooning sadly into the microphone and my vibes were fucking immaculate. I was feeling every single word I was singing, which was really unfortunate to be honest because the song was sad (emo AF – Hann was right) and as I neared the end, filled with emotion, I thought it would be a good idea to cast my eyes over the audience, you know, just to create a nice little memory for myself.

My eyes scanned all the faces staring back at me and then they found him.

George was standing at the very back, watching me with such intensity on his face that it gave me a fright. I panicked and choked, completely mutilating the end of my song. I styled it out by laughing and saying: “Fucking hell, got a bit _too_ emo there.”

Thankfully Adam and Ross immediately started screaming and cheering which inspired the rest of the crowd to do the same. Best mates.

Hugo came over and grabbed me into a one-armed hug: “Doesn’t he have a beautiful voice ladies and gentlemen? Matty Healy – although we might rename him ‘emo lord’ seeing as how he just had us all crying in the club!”

I waved at the crowd and then made my way off stage and into the arms of Adam and Ross who crowded me with hugs and pats on the back.

“Amazing!!! You did great!” Hann grinned at me, releasing me from a death-squeeze.

“What happened at the end though?” he asked.

He immediately knew by the look on my face. He sighed heavily.

“Fuck, where?”

“Back of the room, by the bar,” I said. “Fuck, I need a cigarette and a fucking _bucket_ of wine.”

“You alright? You’re shaking,” Hann frowned.

“I just need to – ” I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence because Ross hissed the word “Incoming!” and a few seconds later I heard George’s deep voice quietly saying: “H-Hi Matty.”

Bollocks.

I turned round to face him. George was standing there, a foot taller than everyone else around him. A guy was standing beside him and I instantly knew he was a label rep. He was wearing dark-rimmed glasses with no lenses (trying to make a statement of irony, obviously), a vintage band t-shirt, a blazer, Converse and a ridiculously expensive watch. He had the latest iPhone gripped in his hand. Stereotypical label rep – check, check and check.

“Matty, hi, good to meet you,” he said, extending his hand and invading the hell out of my personal space.

I instinctively took a step back and shook his hand at a distance. I could _feel_ the weight of George’s gaze on me.

“Elliot. George told me you were great but wow. Very impressive – fantastic stage presence. You’ve got great banter with the audience. Are you always like this? Is he always like this?” Elliot was speaking a mile a minute. He looked over my shoulder at Hann and Ross who were hovering behind me.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, not waiting for Hann or Ross to answer his question.

“If you do, does it mean that there’ll be an expectation on me to put out?” I said dryly and Elliot started laughing.

“Absolute banter! What’ll be?” he asked.

Twenty minutes later Elliot was pulling me into a goodbye hug and forcing his business card into my hand. He was interested in me. He wanted me to send him a demo and while this was it, the moment I had been waiting for (actual positive attention from a label rep!), I wasn’t as excited as I thought I would be. I guess I just thought it would be a bigger moment. Maybe it was the post-performance come down or maybe it was the fact that George’s presence was so fucking oppressive I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“Nice one!” Ross gave me a dead arm as Elliot departed.

“Fuck’s sake Ross!” I snapped, frantically rubbing my arm as I turned back to the boys. I was also blatantly trying to ignore George.

I was about to go order myself another glass of wine when George’s deep voice stopped me:

“Great set mate,” he said and I sighed. Fuck my actual life.

“I know,” I said turning back around to face him.

Awkward silence. George ran a hand through his hair.

“Look, can I talk to you?” he asked.

“Actually Ross and I have business to attend to,” I said, grabbing Ross and forcibly linking my arm with his.

“Oh no, fuck this. I am not getting involved,” said Ross, trying to struggle out of the vice-like grip I had on his arm.

“You fucking prick Ross,” I hissed but Ross just laughed and stuck up his finger at me as he broke free from my grasp and retreated into the crowd around us.

“Please Matty?” George sounded a bit pathetic.

My eyes landed on Hann who was trying to back away from us slowly, without being noticed. He gave me a pointed ‘Be a grown up’ look before he too disappeared. Traitors, the fucking pair of them.

Ugh. I could feel a headache starting behind my left eye.

George looked at me like a puppy and I rolled my eyes: “Fine, fucking fine. But I need a smoke so we have to do this outside.”

George just nodded silently and followed me without question as I pushed my way back to the emergency exit.

I shivered as the cold air hit me once again.

“I love smoking but this shit,” – I gestured at the overcast sky – “This shit makes me want to quit,” I muttered, grabbing my crumpled packet of fags and my lighter out of my back pocket.

“What shit? The weather?” George asked.

I nodded, sticking a cigarette in my mouth. I lit up and then offered the fags and lighter to George who took them without a word. He followed suit, chuckling quietly when he saw my lighter. It was pink and had Patrick Star from _Spongebob Squarepants_ on it.

“How old are you?” he asked as he handed it back to me.

“I like cartoons. It’s not _illegal_ ,” I narrowed my eyes at him to show him that I was still fucked off.

George sighed.

“I’m – ” he started, but I cut him off:

“You’re what? _Sorry_? How clichéd,” I blew out a cloud of smoke, tapping the ash off the end of my cigarette.

George flinched visibly and I felt that iciness in my chest again. I couldn’t stay mad at him. I was trying, but it was hard. He was making me feel bad.

“For fuck’s sake,” I groaned, getting frustrated at myself. I put my head in my hands. Why did I have to go and develop a conscience in recent weeks? It was just fucking with my head. I liked George. I fucking liked him. But he had been treating me like I was a ghost for the past few weeks and I couldn’t let him away with that. But I also hated seeing him look so pathetic. But he was also still with Becca and this was all just incredibly fucked and too complicated for me. I wanted to peace out and never return.

“Mate?” George asked, his voice soft.

I moved one of my hands slightly so I could see him. He was beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning.

Deep breath.

“Look George, fuck, I’m sorry that I was a twat but I’m really fucked off over the fact that you’ve just been treating me like I don’t exist for the past few weeks,” I said in a rare moment of vulnerability.

George looked at his shoes. He was gnawing on the inside of his cheek. He was nervous.

“I think…” he began, but then stopped, his brow furrowed. He was clearly thinking hard.

I removed my hands from my face and threw my half-smoked cigarette on the ground, grinding it out with my foot. If we were really having this conversation, I needed something stronger than nicotine. What do you know? Spliff o’clock had arrived.

I took the spliff I had been saving as my post-gig victory smoke out of my pocket.

“Well? You think what?” I spoke around the spliff as I lit up, instantly relaxing as the weed hit my lungs.

“I think… I think things got horribly out of hand,” George looked up at me then.

That actually made me laugh.

“No shit Sherlock,” I said.

“I’m sorry I ignored you. I shouldn’t have done that. I just… fuck. A lot happened. I was confused. I didn’t know how to deal with what was going on and I’m really shit with people, in case you haven’t realised that yet,” he said, shifting uncomfortably and taking a drag of his cigarette.

“You don’t say,” I rolled my eyes. My ice queen game was strong.

“You’re also pretty intimidating,” he said that part so quietly I almost missed it.

I frowned. Intimidating, _me_?

“Your apology isn’t going well Georgie,” I huffed and George rubbed the back of his neck. His discomfort was literally radiating from him. Good.

Another awkward silence followed. And then, to make matters worse, it started to rain. The last thing I wanted was to go back into the crowded club. I just wanted to stand there and smoke my spliff in peace. I had the feeling that my night had already been ruined and that this – getting high in a cold, wet carpark – was probably going to be the peak of my evening. How depressing.

“Pathetic fallacy,” I muttered as the rain got heavier.

“We can sit in my car if you want… so you can finish that,” he nodded towards my spliff which was quickly becoming soggy.

I rolled my eyes but then saw the sad expression on George’s face. I sighed.

“Go on then. Lead the way.”

George’s face brightened ever-so-slightly as I gave in.

His car was parked across the road from the venue and we half-jogged, half-ran through the rain which was getting heavier by the second. By the time I slipped into the passenger seat, my hair was soaked. I shut the door and the distinctly car-ish smell of George’s sweet chariot pushed a memory to the forefront of my mind violently. I saw it playing out in technicolour – the night George and I had spent together. It had really begun in this car when we were sitting outside 36C talking. I could _feel_ the ghost of the anticipation I had felt on that night literally vibrating in my bloodstream.

Fuck, getting into this car had been a bad idea.

Not really knowing what else to do now that we were in the car, I just offered George some of my spliff. He took a tiny drag – “Don’t want to get nicked while driving” – and gave the spliff back to me, purposely being careful so our fingers didn’t touch.

I noted his careful movements with an apathetic detachment. My brain was still caught up on the last time I had been in this fucking car. I was so engrossed in replaying the events of that night, that George’s voice made me jump slightly as he spoke again:

“Matty… fuck. I’m sorry, alright? I really am. The truth is I shouldn’t have ignored you. I… I miss smoking with you on the extension.”

His voice was small and quiet and a bit sad. He was looking at his feet. My heart wrenched a little despite my best intentions.

“I’ve missed it so much I’ve been going out there looking for you at night,” he said and my carefully-curated cool expression faltered slightly, but he didn’t see.

I cleared my throat as I tried to think. This was too much. _Way_ too much. The fact of the matter was simple: George was still with Becca. I was still hung up on him (even sitting in his shitty car all I wanted to do was kiss him). Ergo, we could never be friends. Truly wanting to lob the gob on your mate in a romantic and sexual manner was not conductive to a positive friendship. As long as George was in a relationship and I wanted to kiss him I just couldn’t be his friend. Because life is really fucking unfair like that.

More silence.

“George?” I asked then and he lifted his face to look at me properly, a hopeful expression on his features.

“Just take me home,” I mumbled.

George’s face fell.

“Oh… okay.”

We drove home in silence. This was, quite frankly, NOT the end to my night that I had been planning. I was supposed to be still at the venue, absolutely hammered, riding high on the victory of my amazing performance and making the moves on some beautiful person I would inevitably fuck in about an hour’s time. Instead I was sitting here, in George’s car, enduring this horribly awkward silence – you know the kind of silence that’s filled with all the important, grown-up things that you probably should be saying. This was **not** a good vibe.

I smoked. I brooded. I took out my phone just to try and pass the time. I had some messages:

> **Hann:** Assuming you’ve disappeared with G. Please just try and clear the air so we can all stop walking on eggshells at home 🙏🏻  
>  **Hann:** Ross is a sensitive flower. It’s giving him anxiety.  
>  **Ross:** Yeah mate, sort your life out. Think of me.

I typed in a response:

> **Matty:** I always think of you Rassy. You’re my number one bae 😍  
>  **Matty:** I’m fine btw (thanks for asking dickheads 🙄). G is giving me the most awkward lift home ever.  
>  **Matty:** Also fuck you both for abandoning me and making me talk about my feelings. You two are the absolute worst.  
>  **Hann:** ily babycakes 💖  
>  **Ross:** B a e 🥰

I let out a long sigh through my nose and put my phone away. Then reached out and turned on George’s radio in a desperate bid to avoid conversation. I started bobbing my head automatically as some tunes started slamming – there was a USB in the port.

“This yours?” I asked and George just nodded silently, not taking his eyes off the road.

“It’s good,” I said.

“I know,” he said and I caught his small smirk out of the corner of my eye. He was mirroring back what I had said to him earlier. Despite myself, I smiled.

“Cheeky,” I warned.

George glanced at me, smirk still present.

We finally reached the road that would take us home and I was getting ready to take off my seatbelt and pretty much vault from the car and run up to my coffin just so I could avoid any attempt at a deep meaningful conversation by George, but George didn’t stop driving. 36C sailed past my window and I frowned.

“The house is back there mate – you missed it,” I said.

“I know,” George said again, still smirking.

I turned properly in my seat to look at him now.

“Is this it? Are you taking me somewhere to beat the shit out of me because I fucked off your “girlfriend”?” I asked, obligatory air quotes around the word ‘girlfriend.’

George just rolled his eyes and shook his head. Then he glanced at me:

“What’s with the air quotes?”

I waved my hand at him dismissively.

“G, I am really, truly, not in the mood to be abducted right now. Will you please just let me out?” I sounded tired. Whatever George was doing, I wasn’t interested. I just wanted to go back home, crawl into bed and forget all of this fucking nonsense.

“Would you just be patient?” he said, sounding a bit exasperated himself now.

We drove for fifteen more minutes and he finally turned in to a car park. We ended up at…

“McDonald’s? Really?” I gave him a moody teenager style look as he pulled up to the drive-through speaker and rattled off an order.

“Chicken McNugget meal and chips,” – He looked pointedly at me – “And a McFlurry from the pound-saver menu.”

A memory blossomed in my mind suddenly – the day Ross has skulled George in the face with my boot and I had sat him on the kitchen table and tended to his face. We had talked about chips. He had remembered my stoned McDonald’s order.

“I hate to break it to you love, but this doesn’t make up for the fact that you’ve been ignoring me,” I said around a mouthful of chips a short while later. “I mean, it _helps,_ but it doesn’t make up for it.”

“God, are you always this stubborn?” George asked, stealing my drink and taking a swig.

“Well, I am an Aries, so you tell me,” I said.

George rolled his eyes.

“By the way, what happened to Ross’s face?” he asked. “He’s got a pretty bad black eye.”

“He tried to save my career.”

George gave me a weird look. I didn’t elaborate. We were sitting outside 36C eating in the car. Well, I was eating in the car. George hadn’t ordered anything for himself. He just kept stealing chips when he thought I wasn’t looking.

“So how is Mr Parker?” I asked then, just to be a bit petty.

“Mr Parker?”

“Pete George. _Pete_. Jesus Christ. Pete my spider. As in Peter Parker. As in Spider-Man, _hello_?”

“You know about that?” George looked a bit awkward.

“Hann told me he had defaulted to your premises,” I said, leaving out the part that I missed the stupid fucking spider almost as much as I missed hanging out with George.

“He just appeared in my room one evening. I swear I didn’t like… kidnap him or anything,” George said.

“A likely story,” I scoffed.

“I mean it. You know you can come visit him if you like?” George said tentatively.

I finished my chicken nuggets. George looked well and truly pathetic. My heart betrayed me by feeling sorry for him.

“I guess it would be nice to see him,” I said and George gave me a small smile in exchange.

We got out of the car and went inside. Hann and Ross were nowhere to be found and I figured they were probably out on the lash given how late it was getting. They were, most likely, celebrating for me in my absence while I was stuck here having all the conflicting feelings. Lucky them.

I followed George down to his bedroom in silence. Weirdly enough, there was a knot of anxiety growing in my stomach. I hadn’t been in his bedroom since _that_ night. That fucking _epic_ night. Fuck. I was trying really hard not to think about it.

“He’s over there,” said George, pointing to the corner of the ceiling just over his desk.

I heard him sitting down on his bed as I wandered over to inspect Pete’s new digs. My heart twisted when I realised what George had done. Pete was there in the corner alright, but he also had a little disco ball beside him (identical to the one George had given me for him) and George had also constructed what appeared to be a little privacy wall out of spliff skins.

I looked at George, who looked a bit embarrassed.

“I-I just… it’s for his privacy,” he said, gesturing to the skins stuck to the ceiling. “He has his own shit going on. I didn’t want to be all up in his business. It’s a respect thing. Also, I just wanted him to be comfortable because I know he’s your mate. Oh and I keep the window open for him during the day so some flies can get in.”

“No wonder he’s jilted me. He’s living a five-star lifestyle down here,” I said, sitting down on George’s desk chair. My eyes wandered over the desk and it took me a few seconds to realise that something was missing:

“No laptop?” I asked and George rubbed at the back of his neck. His discomfort was palpable. I looked away.

“About that… Becca and I… Fuck,” he swallowed, took a breath and cleared his throat. “Becca and I broke up.”

I turned to look at him so hard I almost gave myself fucking whiplash.

“What?”

“Yeah, um,” George’s eyes wandered around his bedroom, touching on everything except my shocked expression.

“She um… She called me a few weeks ago. Video called me. She said that while she cared about me, there was someone who cared more and I would be an idiot if I didn’t feel the same,” a blush was creeping up onto his cheeks.

“But to be honest I had… well. Um… I had sort of come to that conclusion myself before she even called. I just… I didn’t know what to do about it.”

I felt like I was going to be sick. This conversation had taken a turn that I was NOT expecting. May Day. May Day. If this wasn’t a Code Potato Waffle situation I didn’t fucking know what was. I was reeling. I felt like I was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Matty…” George scooted over to the side of the bed, closer to me. Our knees were almost touching.

“She… Fuck, _fuck_. She. Um…” George was struggling.

I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. George reached out as if he was going to put his hand on my arm, but stopped before he made contact. He was hesitating. His fingers were hovering so close to my skin, I could feel the heat radiating from him despite the fact that we weren’t actually touching.

I slowly brought my gaze up to meet his.

“She told me about the phone call,” George finally managed to get the words out.

I was just about to say “Oh” when his fingers made contact with my arm and he leaned forward and kissed me.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Happy Tuesday! Please accept this NSFW chapter as a gift and to say thank you, as always, for all your kind words, encouragement and support. I have one more chapter left for you in this fic - it’ll be up at the weekend. I’m currently writing it and I have ALL the feelings 😭😂. I can’t wait to share the ending with you. But in the meantime, enjoy!

**Chapter 17**

George was kissing me. _George was kissing me._ He had said words and now he was _kissing_ me. The surge of serotonin I was experiencing was legit making my limbs shake.

As soon as our lips had connected, I felt all my anxiety, all my shock, all my confused feelings drop away in an instant. There was just me and George and the kiss, and it was a really fucking good kiss (probably because I had convinced myself that George and I would never, ever kiss again.)

All I could feel were his lips against mine. The kiss took up all my attention in the way that only a really fucking good kiss can.

My hands eventually found his face, while his found the back of my head. Both of us were pressing into each other. Desire ignited inside me so forcefully, I felt lightheaded and a bit dreamy and unreal. Floaty. Like I wasn’t fully in my body. The past few weeks, everything that had happened, it suddenly seemed _so fucking stupid_ and like such a waste of time. Why did we allow it to happen when we could have been doing _this_ the entire time? It didn’t make any sense to me.

I realised that I had been stupid getting so angry at George. It didn’t really matter did it? I needed to let it go. But as soon as I had that thought, another one popped up in my head.

I frowned as George pulled back for air, resting his forehead against mine. He was so warm but I couldn’t enjoy the feel of him. I was irked.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice slightly breathless and carrying a tone of concern as he noted my expression.

“You said I was intimidating. Earlier tonight you called me intimidating,” I blinked my eyes open.

George started laughing as he pulled away from me fully, leaning back onto his elbows on his bed.

“That’s what you want to talk about right now? Seriously?” he was smiling.

“I’m not intimidating,” I huffed.

“You are mate,” he said, dark eyes dancing with amusement.

“I’m friendly as fuck. I’m a delight,” I said.

George rolled his eyes and I swatted at his leg. His kiss had made the atmosphere between us lighten at least. I felt more at ease. Maybe 10 per cent less fucked off at him than I had been before (not that I would tell him that though).

“How am I intimidating?” I pouted.

“You’re just so…” Now it was George’s turn to frown as he tried to phrase what he wanted to say in a way that wouldn’t fuck me off even more.

“You’re so confident. You literally _ooze_ sex,” he said and then he added quietly: “I have never met anyone like you in my life. I was terrified of you when we first met.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, intrigued now.

George didn’t stop me as I leaned forward and started playing with his belt buckle. He swallowed.

“You’re doing it again, you don’t even realise it,” he breathed. He inhaled slowly through his nose as I allowed my fingers to skim over the tiny sliver of bare skin between his belt buckle and his t-shirt.

“I realise it, trust me,” I said.

I looked up at him as he suddenly grabbed my wrist. I inhaled sharply. I sometimes forgot he was so much stronger than me. And then George did a very un-George-like thing: He guided my hand to his crotch and pressed my palm down against him. He was getting hard. Interesting turn of events.

“I want this,” he said and I had to take a deep breath in to try and steady myself in the face of this blatant display of desire. Hormones immediately began raging through my body, making it hard for me to remember why I was so angry at George in the first place.

“I’m still fucked off at you,” I said, even though it was a lie. I honestly didn’t care any more. All I cared about right now was George and his cock and the fact that he was single.

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry.”

“But I am, _ahh_ ,” George gasped as I ground my palm against his crotch firmly.

And I remembered our first night together – everything we had done – the passion, the desire, the electricity, and I wanted him. Regardless of my bruised ego, I _wanted_ him. My body was drawn to George. Had been ever since the first night I met him. Everything about him was fucking magnetic.

“I hated the way you blanked me these past few weeks,” – I gave George a pointed look as he went to apologise again and he fell silent – “I’m going to make sure that you can never ignore me again.”

“Why does that sound like a threat?” George asked, he was breathing heavily, his eyes following me as I pulled myself up onto my feet using his belt for traction and then began crawling up his body on the bed.

“It’s not a threat,” I said, my voice low. I was so turned on already by our little power play. My inner dominatrix was positively _humming_. The atmosphere between us had changed and he was gorgeous and I had gone too long without touching him. My body was _craving_ him.

I lowered myself onto him.

“It’s a promise,” I whispered against his ear, a hint of teeth grazing at his ear lobe as I said each word. I pressed my hips against his, drawing a moan from his lips when he realised how hard I was as well.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night,” he said, his hands finding my face again. He tried to pull me into a kiss, but I wouldn’t let him.

“If you really, truly, mean that – show me,” I said.

I saw the exact moment he made the decision. I could see it in his eyes. Something changed. And then his hands found my ass and George pressed me against himself and flipped me over so I was lying on my back and he was on top of me. He did it so quickly and effortlessly that it took a second for my brain to catch up with his actions.

He smirked down at me, obviously noticing my surprised expression. He had a more confident aura about him now. He was sure of himself. It was ridiculously sexy.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his low voice causing _things_ inside me to pull and spark and come alive.

Our bodies were pressed so tightly together, I could feel his erection practically pushing me into the mattress. He had me fully powerless and the weight of his body felt fucking _divine_.

I nodded and he kissed me again, and it was soft and deep and I felt my heart expand in a weird (but not unpleasant) way as he slipped his tongue into my mouth and his fingers pushed under my top, making me shiver as they danced over my skin.

I decided then and there that I would never get sick of George. I would never have ‘too much’ of him. As far as I was concerned, there was never fucking _enough_ of him. I just wanted and wanted and wanted. And I always would.

He broke the kiss and rose up so he was kneeling over my body. I swallowed as he pulled his top off, revealing his taunt, toned body. Those abs – _that_ Halloween costume. Perfection.

“Up,” he said, gesturing at me to sit up and for the first time in my life, I actually did what I was told. I sat up and allowed him to pull off my top and throw it across the bedroom. So this was happening. Happy fucking days. Get in.

He kissed me again, hands cupping my face and this time, as his tongue worked against my own, the vibe changed so drastically I thought I was going to die.

As we kissed, George – innocent, shy, perfect, beautiful fucking George – dropped one of his hands from my face to my throat. It wasn’t kinky, nothing like that (even though I was screaming ‘Choke me daddy!’ on the inside) it was just a gesture of power and it fucking _thrilled_ me.

In that one small movement of his hand I knew what George was saying – he was reminding me that he was stronger than me. He was telling me that he wanted this. He didn’t want to be a passenger along for the ride this time.

George wanted to be in charge.

A flush of heat and arousal rushed through me at the dichotomy of his actions: Shy George was now confident George and, with any luck, he was going to fuck me into next week. The juxtaposition was making me so fucking horny I could barely see straight.

I sighed – slightly disappointed, not going to lie – as he released my throat and ended the kiss. He pushed me backwards roughly, down onto the mattress, so I was lying on my back again. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from moaning as he rubbed my cock through my jeans.

“You like that?” he asked and I raised my head, lip still clenched between my teeth, and nodded.

“Come on, I want to hear you,” he said, purposefully gripping me so tightly through my jeans that I couldn’t stop the gasp that fell from my lips. Pleasure twisted inside my stomach.

“If you want loud, believe me, I will give you loud,” I said, half-panting, my head collapsing back onto the bed.

“I will enjoy every second of it,” said George.

He undid my pants and stood up, pulling my shoes and socks off and then tugging my jeans and boxers down.

My cock was standing to attention – I was _achingly_ hard. I looked at George who was staring intensely at my cock and then he looked up at me, catching my gaze, holding it, and when he was sure that he had my undivided fucking attention, he licked his lower lip.

_Fuck._

I didn’t take my eyes off him as he removed the rest of his clothes and my stomach flipped when I saw his beautiful, hard dick. _Hello, old friend._ I had a moment of pride as I looked at his cock, thinking ‘That’s because of me.’ I loved that I turned him on like this. It was, I’m not going to lie, a _major_ ego boost.

George climbed back onto the bed and took my cock into his gorgeous, soft mouth. My eyes rolled back into my skull. His mouth felt amazing. Like fucking heaven. And best of all, he moaned as he sucked me. He was enjoying himself too and that fact alone made my own experience a million per cent better.

My hands tangled into his hair as he worked. A delicious heat was starting to build up in my stomach, my thighs. My rational brain fell away and all I could feel was George’s hot mouth, the smoothness of his tongue as it ran along my shaft – the wet slick of his saliva. I had fucked a lot of people in my lifetime. I had received a LOT of blow jobs. But this one? This was right up there.

And then the Universe smiled upon me because Georgie, bless him, took me into his mouth so fucking deeply, my balls pressed up against his fucking chin and my cock hit the back of his throat. I moaned his name loudly as his throat contracted around the head of my cock.

“Oh my god, _oh my fucking god_ ,” I moaned, my hands gripping his hair with a little more force than was probably necessary, but it just felt so fucking amazing I couldn’t help myself.

He bobbed his head back, repeating the motion, deep throating me like a fucking champ, and it was taking everything in me to remember to breathe. I was getting so close to cumming down his throat. I was thinking about everything I possibly could to stop myself from just letting go there and then – global warming, sad polar bears, the fucking state of my bank account, Ross naked.

Thankfully George sensed my difficulty and stopped his movements, letting my dick fall from his mouth.

I was sweating, half-undone already.

“That was…” I started and George silenced me as he moved back up my body.

He was fucking _gorgeous_. His face was red, his hair was messy, his eyes were half-hooded with arousal. He looked like he had just been fucked. Wanton. Sexy. Divine. His mouth was slightly open and I couldn’t resist it. I pushed my thumb against his parted lips and he sucked it into his mouth, running his hot, wet tongue against it. I was practically purring. It was so erotic. Sexy.

I was HERE for confident George. Yeah, shy George was fuckable in a cute ‘I will take care of you and guide you’ kind of way, but confident George? Confident George was fuckable in a ‘Shut up and do me up against this wall’ kind of way.

I removed my thumb and then kissed him as deeply as I could. I could taste myself all over his mouth.

“This is what’s going to happen,” George said then as we pulled apart and I smirked, high-key loving this. George was so horny he was bossing me around. Love. It.

“I am going to fuck your tight little ass and make you scream my name,” George practically growled the words at me.

And then something unusual happened – I started to blush. _Me_. Shameless me who had once instigated a (rather successful) foursome at the afters of a wedding – long story.

“Don’t go getting shy on me now,” George said and I recognised the words. I had said the exact same thing to him the first night we had been together.

“Touché,” I said and grasped his cock with my right hand, squeezing it so his eyes fluttered shut: “I look forward to not being able to walk properly tomorrow.”

George groaned as I released him. I watched him as I started touching myself. I was so ready for this. My body was practically vibrating with want for him. I needed him inside me.

He watched me for a few seconds and then tore his eyes away from my hand/cock situation and got up. He went to his bedside table and took out a small bottle of lube.

“I was inspired to do some research after our last time together,” he mumbled, squeezing some into his hand.

“It’s amazing what a good prostate-based orgasm can inspire,” I said, groaning as I worked my hand faster against myself. I needed to cum now. I had so much pleasure coursing through my body it was actually starting to get painful.

“I learned what to do because it’s really important to me that I fuck you well,” he said and his words lit even more of a fire inside me.

He climbed back onto the bed.

“You deserve to be fucked really well Matthew,” he mumbled.

Hands on my thighs, spreading them further apart.

“I hated that I was so nervous the first time.”

Finger circling my ass, gentle kiss on the inside of my thigh.

“I feel like I didn’t give you the kind of performance I wanted to.”

I closed my eyes. I was shaking with anticipation.

“Is this okay?” he asked and I was so far gone, all I could do was groan in response.

George didn’t hesitate. He slipped his finger inside me and I gasped at the sensation. I was already so fucking horny for him that this wouldn’t take long.

“Let me know if you need a break,” he said.

“If there’s one thing you need to know about me George,” I panted, I was getting lost in the sensation of him pushing his finger into me, “It’s that I have poor impulse control and I fucking love instant gratification!”

I shouted the word ‘gratification’ as he pressed a second finger inside me.

He worked me and I moaned his name as my body started to loosen up, ready for more of him, craving more of him. At some point he started to suck my cock but I barely felt it – I was getting way too overstimulated. I knew what I needed.

“G,” I panted and he looked up at me.

“Mmhmm?”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please, fuck, please put your beautiful cock up my arse because I’m going to fucking die if you don’t.”

I moaned as he removed his fingers and then, mere seconds later, I felt the soft tip of his cock pushing against me – his big hand on my thigh.

“Matty?”

I opened my eyes and looked at him.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. I had never been more sure of anything in my entire fucking life.

George took a deep breath and started to push his way inside me. Fireworks exploded through my body. It felt good. Like _sofuckinggoodohmygodgood_. I had waited for this moment for so long and it was even better than I could have imagined. My only regret was that it hadn’t happened weeks ago.

George was fucking beautiful and his face, oh my god, I wanted to burn that shit into my memory so I could have it forever – his eyes were squeezed shut as he pushed himself into me, crease between his brows, flushed cheeks, mouth open. He was kneeling on the mattress, his huge, strong hands resting on my thighs. He stopped moving as my body told him he had gone as far as he could.

“O-okay?” he asked, his voice strained. I could feel him shaking with the effort of forcing himself to stop amid such intense pleasure. I had been there before – I recognised it.

“I’m okay, are you okay?” I asked.

He nodded and let out a long exhale, closing his eyes against the waves of pleasure that I knew were enveloping him. Again, I had been there before – I recognised it.

“G?” I said, my voice soft and his eyes met mine. I swallowed. I was sweating.

“Please,” I said, the end of the word coming out in a moan.

George started to move. He slowly pulled his hips back and I gasped at the beautiful dragging sensation, my skin breaking out in luscious shivers. He pressed back into me and both of us moaned together. He was being gentle with me, but gentle is not what I wanted. I wanted him to fuck me into that beautiful space where reality drops away and you’re just swimming in that place that feels so good, you think you’ve died and gone to heaven.

“Harder,” I said, my voice strained.

He pulled his hips back faster and pressed into me with more urgency.

“Fuck, yes, oh my god. Just like that, yes,” I groaned.

George moaned my name as he repeated the movement, gradually establishing a rhythm. With each press of his hips I was getting higher and higher. I could feel every inch of him inside me. I could feel every part of him as he fucked into me. I was drunk on him. I was so caught up in the sensation of him that I was starting to babble filthy nonsense – my words eventually devolving into loud moans. George had lost his words as well – he was grunting with the effort of his sterling work.

There was so much power in his fucking thighs as he slammed into me, his pace unwavering as he moved. I could tell that he was taking pride in his work, he didn’t want to disappoint me, which was getting me off even more and then the fact that this was George’s first time properly with a man jumped into my mind and that made my arousal start to peak. My orgasm suddenly started to build at an insanely fast speed.

George fucked me to the point where I was starting to have trouble remembering my own name and then… Then, fucking hell, I felt his big hands move from my inner thighs to under my arse. He picked up my hips, most of my body weight, like I weighed absolutely nothing and it took me a second to understand what he was doing, but then he slammed into me so deeply, I could practically _feel_ him in my intestines. Gross visual, but it was the truth. I yelped loudly as stars exploded behind my eyes, in my brain, in the vast expanse of my entire fucking nervous system.

George moaned my name as he slammed into me again and again, his voice strained. He was fucking me so good. So fucking _good_. And then the cliched sex line from me:

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, fuck, fuck. Don’t. Don’t stop. Please, please, don’t stop. Don’t ah, AH!”

My eyes rolled back into my head violently as my orgasm hit me like a tidal wave, I was shaking as I came all over myself.

George didn’t stop. It took four and half more thrusts (I say four and half, because he started convulsing halfway through thrust number five) and I felt him filling me up completely. I moaned at the sensation, loving the way his dick twitched inside me.

“Oh my god,” George panted, and all the strength left his body. I had to literally lean forward and catch his head before he face-planted onto my stomach, which was covered in my own cum.

“Mind yourself love. Cum is a bitch if you get it in your hair,” I said, my voice hoarse from all the moaning and screaming I had been doing.

George put out his hands to steady himself and gave me a satisfied grin.

“That was…” he started and then just shook his head, smiling.

“I know,” I said. I felt like I had just been fucking exorcised or something.

He took a deep breath and then pulled out of me. I winced slightly.

“Are you alright?” he asked, noticing my face.

I nodded.

“It’s just… you have quite a large cock George,” I said and George blushed.

He grabbed a small packet of tissues off his desk and handed it to me. I gave him an incredulous look.

“What?” he frowned.

“I’m gonna need more than this,” I said.

“Why?” he asked and I raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s this thing called gravity and as soon as I stand up –” I started.

George’s eyes widened as he realised what I was talking about.

“Oh my _god!_ ”

He was cringing so hard I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at him.

“Matthew, stop!” he swatted at me, obviously mortified.

“Look, I have no qualms about waddling out to the bathroom, but I’m just trying to protect your bedsheets here. Speaking of – ” I glanced down and George covered his face with his hands.

“My _god_. Stay where you are,” he said and left the room.

I heard rummaging in the downstairs bathroom and then he came back with three rolls of toilet paper. He handed them to me sheepishly. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that there wasn’t _that_ much cum up my arse.

Post toilet roll and awkward bathroom waddle, we were lying in George’s bed. We attempted to have a serious conversation, really, we did. We needed one – even _I_ knew that and I fucking _hated_ serious conversations (even more so when they involved emotions). But at some point, I vaguely remember drifting off as George told me he was sorry again.

I woke up the next morning, squinting in the thin beam of light that was filtering through George’s curtains. George was already awake beside me and watching what appeared to be a compilation of cute puppy moments on YouTube. The video was on mute.

“Good morning,” he said softly, adding: “I didn’t want to wake you,” when he saw me looking at his phone.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Just before eight.”

We fell silent and then I realised something – the house was oddly silent. Granted Hann had usually left for work by now, but Ross was nearly always still swanning around procrastinating until the last possible moment that he needed to leave in order to catch the bus.

“Hann and Ross didn’t come home last night,” I frowned as I stated the fact.

“About that,” said George, watching me as I sat up. “I asked if they could give us some space last night… so we could talk.”

I poked George’s leg with my foot beneath the blankets. I could feel the heat emanating from him. He was like a living furnace.

“You engineered this?”

“Don’t say it like that. I didn’t expect… I mean, uhh, what we did last night… I wasn’t expecting that. I thought we would just talk. I just wanted us to talk,” he mumbled, colour rising in his cheeks. He was obviously thinking about what we had done last night.

“Ross and Hann sold me out? Fuckers,” I sighed.

But then a more important question came to mind. To be honest last night had just left me with a lot of questions.

“Well fuck, I’m going to have to ask it now then, innit?” I said, raking a hand through my hair while George watched me silently.

_Ugh._

I let out a silent scream before rushing out a: “Sowhatdoesthismeanthenforuslike?”

George took a moment and I could see him trying to decipher what I had just said. When he had figured it out, he just offered me a quiet: “I don’t know mate.”

I nodded. Cool. Fucking _cool_.

I suppressed my desire to fidget and forced myself to just sit there in George’s warm bed and try to formulate exactly what it was that I wanted, no needed, from him. My eyes scanned the bedroom as I thought, looking at all of George’s stuff as if I’d find the answers I was looking for hidden in his overflowing laundry basket and random collection of books and all those assorted lighters that were everywhere (he was forever forgetting lighters).

I was struggling to find the words. Like seriously struggling. I wasn’t used to having these kinds of conversations, but I knew that I had to be the one to initiate it. George was still probably traumatised from having his cock up my arse. Whatever this conversation turned out to be, it had to come from me. Fucking hell. I fucking hated being an adult. Jesus Christ, I needed a spliff.

As if reading my mind, George asked: “Spliff?” and I nodded, still trying to get a hold of my thoughts and my feelings as he slid over my own body and got out of the bed.

He was standing at his desk, naked as the day is long and looking fucking glorious. I watched him intently as he put a spliff in his mouth and lit it up.

A moment of dazzling clarity sparked in my brain as I watched him and I was just about to open my mouth and say something idiotic like _I want to fuck you again, but exclusively like, as in I want to fuck you but also not fuck anyone else because, apparently, being in a monogamous relationship is something I want even though you ignored me and fucked me well off, but I guess that’s what I want, innit? I also have this really strange sensation in my chest and I think I’m either having a heart attack or I’m in lov –_

But then I saw it: There was an open suitcase sitting on the floor in front of his wardrobe, just behind him.

Sinking feeling in my stomach. _Oh no._

“What’s with the suitcase?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it, but actually sounding chalant as fuck.

_No, no, no…_

George froze. He slowly looked at the suitcase and then back to me. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled the smoke he had been holding in his lungs. And then he said in that beautiful deep voice of his:

“I’m moving out.”

******


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** And so we’ve reached the end. Omg, my loves I have enjoyed every single second of writing this silly little fic for you. Honestly, it has gotten me through the worst of lockdown. Thank you so much to everyone who’s been here from the start, and everyone who has taken the time to pop in every week and leave comments and kudos and words of encouragement. You’re all the absolute best ❤️❤️. This has been SO much fun and I’ll be back sooner rather than later with another fic for you.
> 
> I got a bit emotional writing this ending 🥺 I hope you like it and I hope I’ve done this story justice. Enjoy and thanks again ❤️

**Chapter 18**

**ONE YEAR LATER**

“Oh no, absolutely fucking not!”

Ross tried to make a run for the front door, but I got there before him and slammed it shut.

“Fuck’s sake Matty!” Ross glared at me.

I purposely stood up taller and pushed out my chest, trying to barricade as much of the door as possible and make myself look intimidating.

“I’m not having it Ross you fucking dickhead!” I snapped.

Ross took a step towards me.

“You don’t scare me,” he said.

I raised my fist.

“I am not above fucking up your face again if I need to,” I threatened.

He sneered at me and then backed off. Just like I thought he would. Despite what he said, Ross was totally wary of me and my freakish strength since I had given him that black eye.

“I wish Hann was here,” he grumbled.

“Yeah well he isn’t. So take that,” – I pointed at the box he had left in the living room – “And fuck off!”

Ross rolled his eyes and begrudgingly went and picked up the box which housed the last of his belongings.

“Prick,” he muttered under his breath and then, loudly, as he came back into the hall: “Would you mind?”

I gave him a withering look but opened the front door for him anyway.

“I don’t see why you won’t just let me keep this here. This place is fucking huge and our new apartment is tiny. What do you need all this extra space for anyway?” he said.

Waughy had recently been kicked out of his lovely old rented house (the one from _that_ party) and he had asked Ross to move in with him. In a bid to save up a deposit to buy their own home, they had downsized to a tiny one-bedroom apartment on the other side of the city.

“I’ll find some way of using all this space,” – I looked around the hall – “Might make your old room into a sex dungeon.”

Ross groaned as I winked at him.

“I won’t miss you,” he said dryly.

“Funny, that’s what Gandalf said and yet he’s here every other weekend,” I smirked at Ross.

Hann had moved out six months ago and was now living with Sexy Frodo, but he desperately missed the banter in 36C. He made it a point of insisting on a “mate date” every second Friday. These “mate dates” usually consisted of us ordering in some food, smoking some spliff and having a few drinks. And then, when we inevitably got fucking hammered, they would devolve from wholesome catch-ups into pathetic, deep meaningful conversations where we all cried and shared how much we loved and respected each other. Even me and Ross (just to give you an idea of how fucked up we usually got.)

“Are you going to be alright here on your lonesome?” Ross asked then. He turned around and took one last look at the house from the doorstep.

He was sad to be leaving, I knew he was. But I also knew that him and Waughy were perfect together and that he’d be super chuffed getting to wake up to Waughy’s pancakes every morning. It was a bittersweet transition for dear old Ross. Me too.

“Ah yeah,” I said. “It was super quiet when Hann left and I imagine it’ll be even quieter now that I don’t have to listen to your whinging, but on the plus side I can walk around bollock naked without anyone taking offence.”

Ross gave me a look that dripped with ‘u ok hun?’ vibes. A wave of emotion made itself known in my chest. I took a breath. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry today.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said, wiggling a finger at Ross’s concerned expression.

“I know you miss him mate,” said Ross quietly.

I nodded.

“Yeah, it’s been…” I trailed off.

It’s been what? Traumatic? Horrifying?

I settled on ‘an adjustment.’

“It’s been an adjustment,” I cleared my throat.

“Well, just try and keep yourself out of trouble. You’re always welcome at ours, you know that, right? Hann’s too, although Charlotte will probably murder you with her bare hands if you call her Sexy Frodo one more time,” Ross grinned at me and I offered him a small smile back.

A shout from the front gate made us both look up:

“Alright Matty?” Waughy waved at me.

“Hi Waughy, nice shades,” I nodded towards his Ray-Bans and he grinned.

“Influenced by your on-stage persona,” he lowered the shades and winked at me.

I laughed. My eyesight was so shocking when faced with the glare of stage lights that I had decided to just keep on wearing sunglasses in order to protect my retinas and ensure I could actually see the side of the stage so I didn’t fall off it. There had been an _incident_ at a festival during the summer that had resulted in a slipped disk and a bottle of Valium pills that Ross had to keep under lock and key away from me because they gave me such a beautiful high.

“You coming princess? Your carriage awaits,” Waughy nodded in Ross’s direction and Ross scowled as he walked down the front path carrying his last box of belongings.

“If you don’t stop calling me princess I swear we are going to have serious domestic issues,” Ross said.

Waughy just laughed. He opened the gate for Ross, bowing theatrically as Ross passed by him.

“You two enjoy your happily ever after. Good luck on the rewrites Ross – I believe in you!” I called after them.

“Oh fuck _off_ Matty!” Ross groaned.

Ross’s first book was being published later this year and he was currently in rewrite hell. For the past few months most of my days had been spent trying to force Ross to stay in his room and write. He was the king of procrastination and it had been a nightmare trying to get him to sit his fucking arse down in front of his laptop, but at least it had kept me distracted.

I stood at the front door, waving as they got into Waughy’s car and drove off.

So long Ross.

I sighed as I closed the door and turned back to the empty house. It was going to be so weird here without Ross and while change was good, ever since I had moved back in for the second time, 36C really had felt like a home to me. Like a proper home. I knew that was because of Ross and Hann. I felt like I was losing that sense of stability now that the boys were gone. I mean, I’m sure our neighbours were fucking delighted at the reduction in noise and house parties, but it was sad. I knew I would have many moments going forward where I missed the guys. Maybe I should write a song about it.

But all that being said, I was happy for them. Really. They were growing up. I wondered if this was how Hann felt when he was in peak ‘mum’ mode. Watching the people you love grow up and start relationships and achieve amazing things – it was emotional but really satisfying. I guess I could see the appeal.

I wandered upstairs to Ross’s old room, just to check the fucker hadn’t stashed a load of his crap under the bed. It was all clear. I sat down on the bed and took out my phone. I lay back on the mattress and took an artsy picture of the ceiling, adding a black and white filter for effect.

> **Matty:** Do you think this ceiling is strong enough to hold up a sex swing?  
>  **Matty:** Think I might turn Ross’s old room into some kind of sex dungeon.

I sent the image while I pondered sex swings. Just how much weight could they hold up really? Also, how much effort did shagging in a sex swing really require? Would shagging in a sex swing give you abs? Probably, if you had to really engage your core to stop yourself from swinging all over the place.

I didn’t have to wait long for a reply to my question – it arrived a few minutes later:

> **G:** You do realise that it’s 7am here, right? 🙄  
>  **G:** Why are you asking me about sex swings at 7am? 😑

I smiled.

> **Matty:** I know it’s 7am. I just really wanted your input. You’re coming home in a week – I just want the place to be nice for you 😜  
>  **G:** You’re so kind. How about we scratch the sex dungeon and turn it into a music room instead?  
>  **G:** Besides, Hann’s old room would make a much better sex dungeon – it doesn’t share a wall with the neighbours 😏

I snorted at that.

> **Matty:** Hann’s room it is! What colour gimp mask should I buy you?  
>  **G:** What makes you think that I’ll be the one wearing the gimp mask? 😉  
>  **Matty:** Oh lol. Do you remember when you used to be the shy one? 🧐  
>  **G:** I don’t know what you’re talking about 😬  
>  **Matty:** Spare me 🙄  
>  **Matty:** I hope the gig is going well.

George had been in LA for the past two months. He had gotten his big break shortly after he had decided not to move out of 36C. He had been DJing one night and got talking to an up-and-coming production talent, who asked him for some samples of his work. The rest, as they say, is history. George had worked on some great tracks over the past year and as his artist portfolio grew, so did the job offers. He was now regularly jetting back and forth to LA to work and he was ridiculously happy. He was also, mercifully, nowhere near as shy as he once used to be. He was thriving in every sense of the word.

And me?

Well, I was wrapping tracking on my first EP. I had only gone and scored myself a record deal. While things with the rep George had introduced me to didn’t pan out, an acquaintance of his had gotten wind of my work and it wasn’t long before I was signing an actual contract. My days of busking were officially over at the grand old age of 31. Get in. George was coming home in a week and then he’d start making my own stuff sound amazing. Hopefully. (Note to self – bribe George so he actually _does_ make me sound amazing and not like an absolute twat.)

> **G:** It’s fine. We wrapped on that track I was telling you about yesterday.  
>  **G:** I’ve been here too long though.  
>  **G:** I’m getting antsy.  
>  **G:** Can’t wait to get home – I miss the kitchen extension 🥺  
>  **Matty:** Chin up, you’ll be back soon and hating the crap weather.

I pushed myself off Ross’s bed, slipped my phone into my pocket and went back downstairs to my own bedroom. I grabbed George’s hoodie off the chair at the desk and pulled it on. It was huge on me but weirdly comforting and cosy. Despite the sunshine outside, this was still the UK and it was deceptively cold. My phone vibrated again in my pocket as I took a spliff from the fancy cigarette holder George had brought back on his last trip to the States.

I smiled as I lit up the spliff, feeling oddly emotional as I thought about everything that had happened to get me to this point in my life. The rollercoaster that was me and George and everything we had been through. The ridiculously angry speech I had given him that morning many moons ago, in this very bedroom, when he was standing arse naked by the window and told me he was moving out and I had told him he couldn’t.

If memory serves me well, I had actually flat-out forbid him from leaving (I had also stolen his suitcase, run out of the house naked and threw it onto the roof of the extension).

But before that had happened George had said:

“I’m moving out.”

And I had said:

“The **fuck** you are.”

George had just blinked at me, obviously not expecting such an aggressive response. And then I had gotten angry at him for being such an idiot:

“You can’t leave. I’m not allowing it, so take your shit out of that stupid bag and get back into bed.”

“Why?” George had asked, all confused at my reaction and I had felt it well up inside me and spill out before I had even fully processed it:

“Because I think I fucking love you, alright you twat? I like you. I like having sex with you. For fuck’s sake. I don’t want to have sex with anybody else, which is a huge fucking inconvenience for me George, believe me. I have these fucking _feelings_ and they won’t go away and even when you’re being a dick and ignoring me, I still can’t fucking stop thinking about you and I feel like in some ways you’ve sort of become Pete’s surrogate dad and I’m into this weird little family that we could have and I just love your stupid fucking face and – ”

George had then made a motion to pick up his suitcase and I had dive-bombed out of bed, pushed him out of the way and grabbed it. All I knew in that moment was if George got his hands on that case, he’d leave and I couldn’t have that.

“Give it back Matty,” he had said.

“Fuck you George. I’m serious.”

“But you just said –”

He had tried to grab the suitcase off me but I ripped it away from him (it wasn’t closed properly and some boxers fell out).

“You’re not leaving!” I said and then I went rogue.

I ran into the kitchen, flung open the back door, ran out into the garden and lobbed the suitcase up onto the roof of the extension, as you do in the middle of a serious adult conversation. George’s clothes went absolutely fucking everywhere in the process because I didn’t think to, y’know, actually zip it up.

Truthfully, I wasn’t sure what flinging his suitcase would achieve – in retrospect George could literally have just climbed up there, gotten his things and left pretty easily, but I was half crazed by the events of the previous night and the fact that I had just bared my heart to him. (I was also freaked out by the fact that I had just dropped the L-bomb without a second thought – quite unlike me to be honest).

“You dickhead!” George had said, following me outside. A pair of his boxers was stuck in the hedge and numerous tops were sprawled all over the patio area. Unlike me, George had the good sense to pull on a pair of joggers before he came outside. I glanced up as next door’s upstairs curtain twitched. Someone was getting an eyeful of me, but I didn’t care. I was raging.

“No, **YOU** dickhead! You can’t just ignore me, then fuck me, then tell me you’re moving out! I just told you I have fucking feelings!” I was practically wailing now and shivering – it was way too cold to be outside in the nip.

“If you would just –” George started but I cut him off:

“ **Fuck** you George! Fuck you! Fuck you and the fucking horse you rode in on, I can’t even de –”

It was at that point that George had rolled his eyes, grabbed me and cut me off with a kiss and that had been it. We had been together ever since.

It turns out that the only reason George was moving out was because he thought I hated him and wanted nothing more to do with him after his reaction to me telling Becca to fuck off. Apparently he hadn’t planned on us shagging that night (a likely story). He also hadn’t planned on me being a grown up and telling him I didn’t want to fuck anyone else.

I’ll never forget the look on Ross and Hann’s faces when they finally reappeared later that day and found George and I lying on the sofa together watching _Escape to the Country_ and arguing over which look was best: modern AF or old with character.

“Well it’s about time,” smiled Adam as I held up George and I’s entwined hands while George blushed so red I thought he was going to pass out.

“Fucking _tell me about it_ ,” I said, and George pushed me off the sofa.

I yelped as my arse hit the ground.

“You dickhead!” I hit at George’s leg but he just laughed at me.

“Keep acting like that and I’ll reconsider this arrangement,” I huffed.

“I’m sorry, come here.”

George grabbed me and helped me back up onto the sofa. I curled up beside him happily.

“Hey G, did you know that this one has been trying to fuck you for… what now? A year? Several years? A fucking _age_ anyway,” Ross had piped up then.

“Fuck off Ross, you bag of dicks!” I snapped.

I taken off my sock and flung it at him, pumping my fist in the air in victory when I managed to hit him with it.

We had spent the rest of that evening having brews and spliffs and just enjoying the vibe of 36C. At one point during the evening, I had looked around the living room feeling so happy that I thought my heart would burst and when my eyes landed on Hann, he had his ‘proud Mum’ face on, and I knew that everything would be okay.

They were good times. Man, 36C, what a place. This house was full of happy memories: house parties, laughs, the ridiculous conversations I used to have with George’s bedroom door.

All the hours I had spent talking to him – it felt like a lifetime ago now.

Back in the present, I took my phone out of my pocket so I could continue our current conversation:

> **G:** I miss you.  
>  **Matty:** I miss you too. Counting down the hours till you get home.  
>  **Matty:** But I won’t let you in unless you come bearing presents and a carton of those fags I like from duty free.  
>  **G:** Fine 🙄🙄🙄  
>  **G:** I love you, you idiot 😘  
>  **Matty:** I love you too 😘

**THE END.**


End file.
